Fate: Break Chains
by elessargreystone
Summary: In the french city of Laval, war has broken out. A war between Magi and Heroes to obtain the legendary Holy Grail, a powerful wish-granting device. Answering its call, 7 will fight to lay their hands on it: a King, a Warrior, a Beast, a Maiden, a Genius, an Anarchist, and a Goddess. All will suffer ,and many will die, trying to claim the Untainted Holy Grail...
1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

Chapter 1 - Prologue

It really is astonishing that the human nature makes us thrive so much, compels us to look for any kind of entertainment. Survival isn't enough for us, no no no, we need MORE. I wonder...when did this curse was put on humanity? On this matter, I am no exception, as surprising as it could be. You could even say that I embody this search for distractions. I long for nothing but the thrill of something that, as I lay eyes on it, wakes this old instinct in me. But it is quite logical in the end...for someone as old as me, who experienced so many things, who saw so many wonders, to desperately look for something capable of shaking me out of boredom. And in my experience, the best provider of excitement on this planet is most certainly the human race. Seeing them struggle, trampling others in trying to reach a goal to see it escape them at the end...it truly is a sight to behold. But it takes quite the reward to gather great participants. But it is not where the thrill is... No, the excitement comes from the randomness of this whole affair. I have no idea who will win, and I am the one that brought them here. Sure, I have my favorites. But I long for nothing more than seeing them crushed by outsiders. Seeing the vision they have of their own superiority shatter in front of them like a rightly named vanity mirror. That's why, when I uncovered the existence of the ritual called the Holy Grail War, I could barely contain my excitement. I didn't need the prize in the slightest, no: I simply desired to see the Masters fight, putting forth their ideals, seeing them clash, their dreams and hopes crushed to shreds in front of them. That's why... That's why they're all here. Do you hear it? Do you hear THEM? Hear them sing the Aria...it sounds like a lullaby...words without sense... Doesn't it sound...crazy?

* * *

Que l'argent et l'acier en soit l'essence.  
Que la pierre et l'archiduc des contrats en soit la fondation.

On the top floor of a high building, he looks down on the city. Everything in him seems to be a reminder of his status. From his expensive-looking garments to his ice-cold look screaming his arrogance to the world. Surprisingly, he doesn't feel fear in front of the war he's about to enter. He's applying the lesson his family engraved in his mind by the letter: A lion doesn't need to be afraid. Others ought to be afraid of him. He stands proudly in front of the summoning circle traced with chalk on the floor. But he doesn't back down. Not now. After all, he isn't afraid. A large smirk grows on his face. Why should he be? For him, winning isn't a possibility. It's an absolute certitude, that comes from two facts. The conviction he has in his own skills, and the strength of the Heroic Spirit he's about to summon. After all, it is widely spread knowledge that the Servant of the Sword is the strongest of them all.

* * *

Que la volonté de mon grand maître soit brisée.  
Qu'un mur soit levé contre le vent qui s'abbatra  
Que les quatres portails cardinaux se ferment.

She really is a sight to behold. Her blond hair falls down to her waist. Her dress takes her out of her own time, making her look like an anachronism. All alone, with the blue light radiating from the circle, she seems closer to the ideal of the medieval woman than to a real person. Not yet a woman, but undeniably not a girl anymore, you could imagine her waiting for Tristan, their fates eternally entwined. It gives her a very strange aura...almost holy. The kind you would expect from the Maiden of Orleans. But, surprisingly, her mind is in disarray. It's not like her. She chose uncertainty over security. The gamble she took on the advice of a stranger, even more an intruder, frightens her. But she knows that it's not the result that frightens her. No, it's that, deep down, she doesn't know why she acted this way. And it utterly terrifies her. Today, she truly made her own decision for the first time.

* * *

Sort de la Courrone.  
Retourne la route en trident atteignant le royaume.

After 3 days of hesitation, of avoiding the problem, of torturing himself over the issue, he faces the circle. Thankfully, he already knows the identity of the Caster he's about to summon, a steady rock in the storm of doubt his mind is under. He can feel the claws of fear crawling on his skin, trying to break what little resolve he has left. As he continues to sing the Aria, the sound of his own voice fades away. But silence doesn't fall to his ears. Instead, the beating of his heart is becoming louder and louder, to the point where he just can't ignore it anymore. His own existence begins to feel unbearable to him, and he barely manages to avoid throwing up. And as the end of the chant nears, the horror of his own situation strikes him. He feels a cool shiver running along his many scars. He will be standing in the middle of the roaring fires of war. Again.

* * *

Je déclare en cet instant.  
Ton corps sera sous mes ordres,  
Mon destin sera celui de ton épée.

Contrary to all the others, this room is completely silent. Well, almost. The only sound comes from the slow breathing of a woman tucked in her bed next to her already-prepared summoning circle. Her auburn hair makes her skin look even lighter than it already is. Unfortunately for her, her sleep isn't a calm one. Her face shows profound anxiety, and moans of pain escape from her throat regularly. As time goes on, the pain grows stronger with the glow coming from her summoning circle. And it seems that its building an impressive amount of prana. She will have quite the surprise waiting for her when she wakes up.

* * *

Soumets-toi à l'appel du Graal.  
Si tu te soumettrais à cette volonté et à cette raison...Alors réponds!

This is it. The perfect place, the perfect time. He can feel the weight of history on him, surrounded as he is by massive naked stone walls. Walls you would expect from a fortress, or a castle. The strength that shows in his eyes is surprising, for someone as young as him. Too young to enter such a dangerous competition, some might say. But it would be a grave mistake to underestimate him on this basis. Of all the Masters, he is the one who shows the most determination in his eyes. Even though his voice is still that of a child, it doesn't waver ones. He cannot let his own youth tamper with the war. After all, the fate of the world weighs on his victory. As he continues the aria, his eyes check continuously the circle to avoid any kind of failure. But surprisingly, it can be seen in these eyes a twinge of excitement when his gaze falls on the catalyst he used: an amulet, ancient and strange-looking. It looks as if it didn't belong in THIS world.

* * *

Une promess sera jurée ici!  
J'atteindrais toutes les vertues de tout les cieux.  
J'assoierais ma dominations sur tout les vices de tout les enfers.

She listens to the voice whispering in her ear, echoing his voice by repeating his words. Mechanically. He imputed the command "repeat", and she did as she was told. She doesn't need anything else. A command is all she needs. Many would consider, on the first look, calling her a beauty. And it his true that she does not lack anything that would appeal to many, from her dark skin that some would call exotic to more prominent parts. But a particular feature repulses many more. A feature that dominates her entire appearance: her eyes. Even though their color would make them quite appealing in theory, their emptiness will soon come as a shock. But...it is probably a mistake to call them that way. After all, can we really call empty what has never been filled?

* * *

Pourtant tu servira les yeux voilés par le chaos.  
Car tu sera l'un de ceux enfermé dans la folie.  
Je brandirais tes chaînes.

He can see the rain fall outside of the building. He likes the sound of the rain. It always made him feel secure, like nothing could hurt him as long as he was at home. As if the entire world could collapse, but not here. Not in this house. A single drop falls on his unnaturally colored red hair. He ruffles them a bit, appreciating the hint of coolness that it gives him. The contrast between the color of his hair and the color of his skin, white as snow, makes such a stark impression that he became more or less a shut-in for the past few years, as these colors became more and more prominent with his training and the exertion of his Magic Circuits. The sound of the raindrops is mixing with the sound of his own voice, echoing between the pillars of the half-built tower. As his teacher had advised him, he added three lines to the chant. He needed to say these lines, because he needed him. Not for his strength, but for the damages he will cause. For the chaos he would bring. After all, when you wished to wake a giant up, an electroshock wouldn't do. You need something bigger. What you need, is a thunderstorm.

* * *

Du septième Ciel, supporté par trois mots de grands pouvoirs,  
Viens de l'anneau d'enfermement, Gardien du Saint équilibre!

They're on their way. The heroes of times long past, they're coming to fight. On my call, the call of their Masters and to claim the Holy Grail. Some come from faraway countries, some will feel almost like home. Some know each other, some never heard of the other's legends. It doesn't matter. They're all competing for the same prize, having in their hearts a wish they want to see fulfilled. All of them will fight. For themselves, and for their Masters. Among them, many will die. They know it, All of them. But they all are absolutely convinced that IT IS WORTH IT. Worth the risk. Their reason to fight are all different, all of their wishes are different. But in a strange, twisted way, ALL of them, so different, all so wonderfully scared by life, they all are bounded by shackles. Their weight and names changes from one to the other, but...they all wear them. I can tell you the names... Read them in their lives... Here they are!

Grief for the loved Ones...

Disgust for the world...

Pride in the Name...

Honor, always...

Cowardice...

Emptiness...

Fate...

I wonder... In the end, when the war is over and the curtain falls on this pathetic comedy, which chains will of these chains will lie broken on the ground?

* * *

A/N: Well, here it goes! This is the prologue to the long going project I've been working on for 3 months. I hope you enjoyed reading, and are excited to know more about all the characters I created. On this matter, let's be clear: this is an AOC FanFiction. It means that all the characters present in this story are characters I entirely created (beside 1 or 2 minor cameos). So don't expect to see Shirou or Bazett barging in the war, nothing like this will happen. But I hope you will come to like them anyway!

Anyway, as I said in the summary, the War will happen in France. There will be lots of references to french legends, culture and a bit of politics. All the locations quoted in this story will be real ones with their real names, except the main city, which name I will change (partly because it's lame, partly because Nasu did the same). This explains the presence of the french, it's the translation of the summoning aria.

Well, let's wrap this up already. I intend to deliver many chapters in the following months, and I hope you will be there again! Thanks for reading, and any (constructive) criticism will be more than welcome since I'm not very experienced in writing in english. See ya!


	2. Chapter 2 - The Noble meets the Knight

Chapter 2 – The Noble meets the Knight

He was to meet the man in a few minutes. Waiting in his office for him, Alexandre rose up and walked to the large ancient-looking windows. He was in his 30's, wearing a dark-red suit that strongly contrasted with his blond long hair, tied in a ponytail.  
The scenery was stunning, as usual. The castle his family had possessed and lived in for so long was on the top of the valley, looking down on the village of Entraygue. It was pretty small by modern standards, but what was surprising was that it didn't change that much for the past centuries. Even during the chaotic times that was the 19th century for France, Entraygues always seemed to resist the passage of time. Despite the obvious appeal that the village would have on tourists, none were ever seen in Entraygues. Of course, this wasn't just a coincidence. You couldn't stop progress, but you sure could expel it from your own domain. And that's what Alexandre d'Entraygues, as the 16th head of the family, continued to do without ever failing.

The d'Entraygues family. That was without the shadow of a doubt a name that inspired much respect throughout Europe, if not the World. Even though they were way more isolated that other families such as the ones belonging to the Tower, they weren't complete shut-ins, like the infamous Einzbern family. They had one major reason for staying in contact with the outer-world: Entraygues wasn't the only territory they considered the owner's off. France was their home, and their property. It had taken incredible efforts, but they managed to get rid of the Church's influence almost completely. And since then, nothing threatened their place. And nothing major ever happened on their territory without their direct approval. At least, not until now.

He took an immediate dislike in the man who just entered, that showed in the disgusted smirk that appeared on his face. He couldn't help but take this...fool's act as an insult. How could he wear a mask in his presence? And such a disturbing one at that? It was unmistakably of the finest quality, probably Venetian. 15th... No, 16th century. Still, among all the masks that were created in Venice, this had to be the most insane looking one. It was carved with the greatest care, giving a very realist look to the face that was sculpted. But two striking details transformed this masterpiece into a work worthy of the devil himself. First, the left eye. It was entirely covered in blood, which then flowed on the cheek. And second, the smile. Well, calling it a smile would make it sound like it was remotely anatomically correct. But this mask was teared up from one side to the other by an immense smile, with a lot more teeth than you would expect. This abomination made Alexandre stop thinking for a good 30 seconds, before he regained his capacities.

"Welcome, dear guest. I suppose you won't accept to take off your mask, mister..."

"No, I would not agree to such a thing indeed...Hum...Well. Anyway, I suppose you could call me the Count of Cheshire. Yes, this should suffice." His voice was surprisingly high-pitched. Almost like a child. Alexandre got back to his own seat, offering one to his guest, who gladly accepted.  
"Well then... Count, I would like to know more about the matter you brought into my regard. As you must guess, this whole affair worries me greatly," asserted Alexandre.

"Ah...yes. I thought as much. Do not worry, I will answer as much of your questions as I can. But first, I need to know the extent of your knowledge on the ritual known as the Holy Grail War."  
"Not much," admitted the noble. "Only that the ritual was a mean to attain the Root for some, the Third magic for others, and it broke off after the 5th occurrence 10 years ago. Oh, and Heroic Spirits were summoned to fight in the war."

The Count grinned behind his mask. "I see that you at least have the gist of things. This will make this much easier. Sir, do you know the components that are needed for such a ritual to take place?"  
Alexandre started to lose patience, and began to tap his finger repeatedly on the wood of his desk. But he maintained his composure and decided to play along with the Count. At least for now.  
"I suppose you would need a perfect understanding of the inner working of the ritual, and a vessel for the Grail itself."  
The Count expressed his disappointment strongly, by sighing heavily and dropping his shoulders. D'Entraygues was speechless for a minute. "Well, I guess 2 on three is not so bad... I will tell you myself, since you do not seem to have the knack for riddles. The third element needed is territory. In this case, a land highly rich in mana. Such territories amount to little less than a dozen in this country... We have here, of course, the Broceliande forest in little Brittania, Bastia in Corsica, Tours, and...Emmalitia. The matter I came here for concerns this one. A new Holy Grail War is being set up there, as we speak."  
The revelation brought Alexandre out of his shock.  
"Ah, hum... Certainly but...the present owners of Emmalitia are, if I am not mistaken... The Al Blumen family," Alexandre asserted "I find it hard to believe that they would defy our authority in such a blatant way."

The Count gasped, "Of course not! The Al Blumen?!" He froze in place, and then burst out laughing, before slowly calming down. "I don't think they would dare to do such a thing, not in a million years. Even if they were willing to do such a thing, they know perfectly it would be nothing but suicidal."

"You intend to tell me someone set up one of the greatest rituals ever known on their territory and they didn't notice anything?" Alexandre retorted.

A soft chuckle escaped from behind the Count's mask, as he rose up from his chair and closed up on the window. He gently put his right hand on the window, followed by his head, as if he was trying to see what lied below the glass.  
He finally spoke, "I am certain that they suspected something was going on in Emmalitia, but they never managed to find out anything. After all, they tried hard to find what was tampering with their Ley Lines, but unfortunately for them I have to say I covered my traces quite efficiently."

"... Excuse me?", blurted out Alexandre. Luckily for him, he wasn't drinking at the time.  
"Ah yes, I almost forgot the true purpose of my visit. Silly me. Do you want to do this in a more formal way? This is pretty official after all," the Count chuckled.

"What in the name of God are you talking about?" snapped Alexandre.

Alexandre rose from his sit and glared intensely at his guest, intending to scare him into submission. It didn't bother the Count one bit.  
"Well, as you wish," the Count said.

He opened the window in a grand theatrical gesture, before sitting on the edge.

"Dear Alexandre, it is my pleasure to hereby invite you to a little party of mine. It's name is 'The Emmalitian Grail War." It will happen in two months, and the theme will be— I hope you'll like this one— complete and utter chaos! Oh...and I strongly recommend you to bring a plus one." cackled the Count lifting a finger in the air, as if admonishing a child.  
As Alexandre was a brink away from unleashing his wrath on him, the Count let himself fall through the window before the Lord could do anything. D'Entraygues rushed to the window, and only managed to get a glimpse at a sparrowhawk flying away at high-speed. Such a feat...a Dead Apostle, most likely. And a powerful one.  
This would be a lesson. A lesson that no one, no one could mock the name of the d'Entraygues. But to do as such, rushing there wouldn't help at all. This bastard would probably go into hiding anyway. He unfortunately had to play his game and come to Emmalitia when he was most likely to show himself, during the War. But as the Count did underline, this War would transform the city of Emmalitia into a chaotic battlefield. The most secure way was, of course, to summon a Heroic Spirit to protect himself. He let his fist fall on the wood of his desk. Dammit, he had no choice in this. He hated this feeling of being manipulated by someone who thought they surpassed him. He would tear them apart, all of them. This was _his_ territory. This was _his_ domain. And he intended it to stay this way.

* * *

"You intend to dare showing your face to me when you have gain absolutely no information?!"  
Alexandre was pouring his anger on one of the members of a less powerful branch of the family, one specialized in protecting the Entraygues's interests beyond the limit of their domain.  
The envoy insisted, "...In our defense, Sir, he seemed to have wiped out the memory of the few that could have identified him, or known anyth..."

"I didn't call for you here to listen to your excuses!" yelled Alexandre, snapping under the emotional exertion.  
His fist struck the wood of his desk again. And it wasn't the second time in the past month. It was failure after failure. And it was not something that was easily allowed within his ranks.  
"Get out."

"Yes sir." The envoy bowed and left as quickly as the etiquette allowed. Alexandre sighed heavily, before calling for his assistant.  
"Maurice."  
The door opened again, followed by the entry of a man in his 60's, wearing a western-butler suit.  
"Sir?"

"Coffee. And an exhaustive report about the War," demanded the noble. He looked exhausted, but allowed appearing as such only in the presence of a few people. Maurice was one of them.  
"Right away, Sir."  
The butler closed the door behind him, allowing Alexandre to sink even deeper in his chair. It had been a long was back in a flash, bringing what was asked. He began to sip his coffee, appreciating the taste.  
"Well then... You told me an hour ago the research on it was over, so...can we stop it?" Alexandre inquired.

"I'm afraid we can't, Sir," the butler replied. "As you know, stopping a ritual usually isn't that difficult, but the Holy Grail War harnesses too much power. The reaction is at best unpredictable, at worst..."

"Deadly for everyone in a 5km radius, I get it," interjected Alexandre. "I expected as such. Where are we on the preparation for my participation in the war?"

"We finished the research on the ritual yesterday. The most pressing matter is the summoning of the Heroic Spirit. We discovered that to allow such a powerful entity to be summoned by mere Magi, they have been shaped to enter a mold called a 'Class'. There are seven of them. Saber, Lancer, Archer, Rider, Caster, Assassin and Berserker. The most powerful one in terms of raw abilities is always the Heroic Spirit summoned as Saber. They excel both in offense and defense and they have an incredible Magic Resistance," the butler explained.

Alexandre pondered for a moment. "Hmm... This seems like a good choice to me. For the 'Class' at least. What about the catalyst?"

"We managed to find several possibilities, and this is the most powerful one we could find that was linked to a Heroic Spirit belonging to the Saber class." Maurice opened a small magically sealed box, which contained a small curved ivory fragment. "If you could read the inscription, Sir..." said the butler, carefully putting it down on Alexandre's desk. Alexandre took it out of the box and began to decipher it. It was in ancient french, and a name soon.***

"Hruoland? Is it a piece of his horn?"

"Yes sir."

"Excellent choice. I was right to trust you with this. You may leave, we will discuss this further later."

"As you wish, Sir."  
Alexandre continued drinking his coffee, appreciating a rare moment of calm, when he was interrupted by a knock on his door.  
"What is it?"  
Maurice entered, visibly anxious.  
"Madam is here, requesting an "audience with his majesty"." said the old man, hoping the implied quotations marks were implied enough.  
Really, the insolence of this woman knew no bound. If they had told him that her tongue was so sharp... Well, useless thinking about it now. He emitted a light grunt of annoyance.  
"Very well. Tell her I will meet her in the garde...  
"No need. I'm already here." cut abruptly a womanly voice emerging from beyond the door, quickly followed by a young woman in her 30's wearing a black business suit, her long black hair fluttering behind her.  
Alexandre immediately strengthened his back. He would rather be dead than appear weak in front of her. "What did you want to talk about Deborah?"

"Your own foolishness," she answered coldly.

Alexandre wasn't even surprised. Their despise for each other was a secret to no-one, as they often demonstrated it by arguing loudly throughout the domain. But he had to put up with her. After all, her role still hadn't been fulfilled. He needed her. So he tried his utmost to act as her insults were nothing to him.  
Alexandre held in his temper. "I'm afraid spouting such nonsense around won't help to put an end to this argument, so for the sake of ending this, I'm afraid I need to ask you to be more precise."

"I heard you intend to take part in Emmalitia's Grail War," Deborah spat. "Tell me, when did you think to yourself that endangering the bloodline and the legacy of this family was worth meddling with a few Magi that left alone will only kill themselves trying to get their hands on the grail?"

Alexandre had just lost what little control he had left. His face was red with anger. "You want me to stay idle on this while my authority is being defiled? How can you even suggest such an absurdity?"  
"Of course staying idle on this would only be a proof of weakness. I'm not telling you not to do anything. I'm nowhere near as foolish as you are. But going there is just blatantly stupid. Have you read about the report on the fourth war?"

Alexandre sighed. "Yes, and?"

"Then you clearly didn't pay enough attention to the case of the Archibald family. They lost their entire crest," Deborah said, "Generations and generations of work disappeared just because the heir was nothing but a fool. I won't let you endanger the crest to satisfy your own ego. Send the head of a lower branch of the family. The outcome will be the same."

"You don't seem to understand, woman. This is not something I can pass down the hierarchy. This is a major threat. To our power over the country, but also over the respect we deserve. This ritual...it's something utterly chaotic," Alexandre argued, "Deaths will be by the dozens, if not more. This is my responsibility, and mine alone, as the Head of the family, as a bearer of the name Entraygues. I have no wish to get the prize in this war. I will merely be an arbiter. And if i judge no-one worthy of being trusted with the grail. It's simple. I'll destroy it. Besides; I don't see how I could ever lose to any of these backwater Magi."

Deborah's eyes narrowed, fixing on his, trying to destabilize him.  
"I hope you realize you're playing right into his hands..."

"I know perfectly well that the outcome is what he desired, but..."

"This is not what I meant. He made clear to you that he was defying your authority, so that you would come running, rambling on the way about that little pride of yours...You were played like a child. But well, arguing with a child is needlessly tiring, and always useless. So I won't try to change your mind. I do, however, have a request."  
This was unexpected. He thought that they would continue this for at least an hour and a half.  
"... What is it?  
"I'm coming," Deborah revealed.

"What?" Her husband gasped.  
"Isn't it normal for a wife to follow her husband?" quipped Deborah, wearing her usual sarcastic grin.  
"I don't see how this has anyth..."  
Her eyes narrowed again, showing her pure and entire loathing for him.  
"Until I've spat out of my womb one of your breed, that is."  
She left without looking back, smashing the door behind her. What an insufferable woman. Her potential as a breeder was amazing, but her personality largely made up for that. He sighed heavily.

The humble butler spoke at least. "You know sir, I spent most of my childhood in Japan." Alexandre relaxed, happy to have a normal conversation. "Really? I never would have guessed. And?"

"Well, they have an interesting proverb there," the butler explained. "More like a saying, really. They say that, each time you sigh, you let go a piece of happiness. I think that you should refrain yourself from doing so anymore, for after this past month, I think you don't have much left."

The butler smiled gently, seeing Alexandre laughing lightly. Trying to lighten the burden of his master was all he could do in this kind of moments.  
"Thanks Maurice. I needed that."  
He lost himself in his thought for almost a minute, when he remembered a matter left unattended.  
"Maurice, I almost forgot... Our emissaries to the Al Blumen family, did they come back?"

"Indeed Sir, and all is well. As expected of vassals, they will fight for us."

* * *

25/01/XX  
Blue light busted out of the summoning circle, making him put his hand in front of his eyes. He could see Deborah sitting in a couch a few meters away, watching from the corner of her eyes, as if bearing no interest whatsoever to the high-level magecraft that just occurred before her eyes. His gaze then came back to the figure standing in the middle of the circle. A deep voice, filled with determination, came out of it.  
"I ask of you..." The knight spoke, "Are you my master?  
"Indeed I am," The master proclaimed, "And you are my Servant. I welcome you to this Holy Grail War, Servant Saber, Roland de Roncevaux."  
He was tall. Tall enough to easily look down on Alexandre, who never had to be ashamed of his height. He took off his helmet, and placed it under his shoulder. His hair started falling on his shoulders, long and brown. He had the face you would await from someone like him. The face of a mature man who has known nothing but war all his life. Never settling down, never regretting, always looking ahead. From errant knight, to Paladin of the Emperor Charlemagne, to keeper of the borders of the Empire. Wearing an intricate steel armor shining as if polished the day before, he kneeled in front of d'Entraygues, and planted Durandal in front of him in a noise of rattling metal, but with a surprising grace given his build.  
"I hereby declare my fealty to you. My body shall be your sword, and the sword I wield shall be your strength." Saber knelt.

Alexandre was smiling from ear to ear. The first of the Paladins, the most famous french hero, acknowledged him as his master. It felt...As if all the wrongs that had ever been done to him were utterly washed away by his mere presence. He would teach all these impudent Magi that you do not make an enemy out of the d'Entraygues. He was feeling pure bliss, seeing the obvious strength and superiority of _his_ Servant...at least until Deborah opened her mouth.  
"What a shame...such naivete... He really thinks you're worthy of being his Lord. He's going to face a major disappointment in the days to come"  
Alexandre did nothing but twinge his mouth in annoyance. There was nothing he could do anyway. Arguing in front of the great Roland could only make things worse.  
"Master... How could you suffer such an insult? Do you wish of me to make this insolent woman take back her words down her throat?"  
Killing intent filled Saber's gaze. Someone lacked respect in addressing his Master. But he lost all composure when the woman who dared to make such a shameful display out of her insolence started to laugh uncontrollably, before slowly calming down and repeatedly muttering, "Poor thing, Ohh, the poor thing, poor, poor thing..."

"What his the meaning of this comedy, Master!?" the enraged Servant asked.

"This shameless woman's name is Deborah d'Entraygues," Alexandre explained, "Mine is Alexandre...d'Entraygues."  
He could see his Servant's eyes widen in surprise.  
"You mean to say that..."

"Yes," the Master answered. "This woman, as insolent as she is, is my wife. So I would like that you refrain from doing her any harm."  
Deborah laughed again, before getting up to leave the room: she saw all that she wanted to see. "Well, this sure promises to be... Interesting."  
The door closed behind her.


	3. Chapter 3 - Awakening

Chapter 3 - Awakening, from Darkness to the Dawn

30/01/XX

In the dark and silent room, the Servant appeared. He waited, but what awaited him was nothing but silence. He lifted an eyebrow, looking around, searching for his Master and the potential reason of this unconventional summoning. Next to him was a large mirror, in which he could see his own appearance. "Not bad...not bad..." He was still wearing his comrade's Greek bronze armor, as well as his sword. He liked them, not only because they were of excellent fabrication, made of the leather of the Erymanthian Boar and engraved with silver, but also because it reminded him of his friend. Truly, for ten years, he was the only reason he didn't turn back.

Smirking to his own reflection, he finally heard a noise. It probably was there since the beginning, but it was very soft, difficult to hear even when you were focusing. A slow breathing. Tracing back the noise to its origin, he approached the bed. In it, a woman was sleeping. He was sure of it, she was his Master. It was impossible to deny the bond that linked them through which he received her prana. An orange shaded light was falling on her head from the window, allowing him to look more closely at her features when she turned on her back. She was undeniably beautiful, and seemed to be in the middle of her 30's. Her face had a severe air to it, with her thin lips, prominent cheekbones and her short auburn hair. She had summoned him in her sleep. Or so he thought, at first. But such a thing would be impossible. He looked for a potential catalyst that would have called him here, but in vain. Considering her actions couldn't have brought him here… What if it was the other way around? What if he came to her? It was unlikely. Near impossible. But the probability wasn't an absolute zero. And if it was the case, then he had to know. She rolled again, on her left this time. As her slumber deepened and dream began to fill her head, it became obvious that they weren't pleasant ones.

Her painful expression was a proof that nightmares were invading her sleep. He felt crushingly powerless in front of her pain, but he had no power over the realm of Morpheus. Back in the days, he could have asked Cassandra. He always had liked the girl… The poor thing was nothing but a toy in the hands of the Gods. As they all were at the time, but his fate wasn't as tragic as the one she was doomed to. He always had regretted the way she died...If only he had been a little bit faster, he could have stopped them. She was...what? 15? 16? Being raped and murdered when she could hardly be called a woman yet... She was undoubtedly clever, for someone with a mind as messed up as hers. Each time he visited her father's palace before the war, he always spent time with her, bringing her gifts and chatting until the sun would disappear and rise again. The way she saw the world was quite unique. She told him once that his visits were very dear to her. After all, he was the only one who didn't talked to her as if she was nothing but insane.

This sure was an immense drawback when you compared the Age of Gods with the present. Of course magic was weaker, there were fewer wonders, but the Gods weren't there. And so, humans now strive to create their own wonders. He opened the curtains, and looked through the window into the street. The light came from a nearby street lamp, a sodium lamp according to the information given by the grail. It's yellow light gave to the street a eerie atmosphere. The road was perfectly silent, not an odd occurrence for...3:26 am, according to the alarm clock at the feet of the bed. Strange… Why put the alarm clock on the floor when there was a bedside table? Seeing a flat shape on it, he guessed more than he saw a framed picture, face on the table. His curiosity gave in, and he took a look at the hidden picture, before quickly putting it back, carefully. The sleeping woman was in the picture, and there was a man with her, and she was pregnant.

No. No no no. It doesn't have the right. This is beyond evil, this is not what he wished for. If...if she still wears it, then his suspicions are founded. Please...for the love of everything that is holy, please...let it be that she isn't wearing it. They always told him that fate had a twisted sense of humor, but this wasn't funny. Not in the least. Not even to him, who laughed in the face of Gods and Heroes. He lifted the part of the blanket that covered her left hand, but deep inside, he already knew. A golden alliance was shining on her ring finger. The anger that was building inside him turned to fury. He couldn't even scream, he couldn't throw his fists, he couldn't do anything to vent out his frustration. Powerless, he fell on his knees. Fists and jaws clenching, all he could do was crying silently.

It wasn't fair. After all he had done, after going so far as sacrificing his after-life to see her again, Fate was laughing in his face. He heard him, giggling above his head. The bastard.

"What did you expect? You thought you could have your "Happy end", after all you've done? After I shoved down your throat your own mistakes, you thought I would give you what you wanted? You don't deserve it. The moment you betrayed her trust, nothing else mattered. You came back? So what? Doesn't make it any less of a betrayal. Really, after dying by his hands, I thought you would understand. But no. So I'll make it clear, here and now. Look at her, look closely. Look at her pain, and now look at yours. THIS IS WHAT YOU DESERVE."

He got back on his feet, and erased the traces the tears had left on his cheeks. All he could do was support her, try to make her avoid the mistakes she had made, eons ago. But it was all but a lost cause. After all, one couldn't go against it's own Origin.

* * *

31/01/XX

She woke up to two unusual occurrences. First: the smell of something burning. Second: the noise of cooking utensils rattling. In five seconds, she was prepared to face the intruder: the runes were drawn, and her rapier as well. She closed up on the kitchen, avoiding making any noise. Entering, she saw him. He was of an average height, for a man at least. And he was wearing HER clothes. She was about to speak up, when he turned around.

"Oh! I see that you're awake. Seeing that you weren't waking up, I took the liberty of trying to prepare breakfast. But as you can see..." He pointed a pile of black goo, lying in the frying pan. "I failed quite miserably." A large curled red beard was eating half of his face and pursuing the job on top of it, giving him a rather sympathetic look.

"Who the hell are you?" she said, pointing her weapon at his throat.

"Oh right, I forgot the presentations. I'm Odysseus." The warrior flashed a goofy smile.

The woman was somehow even more confused. "If this is your idea of a joke, then I..."

"I'm your Servant." he replied, grinning even wider, as if attempting to win her trust.

"What?"

"Like I said, I'm Odysseus, your Servant." Her eyes widened in shock.

"But...I never summoned you!" She finally snapped, pissed off by his perfect self-control.

"And yet I'm here." He paused, and gave a disgusted look at his own cooking. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make any food worthy of the name. I'll let you take my place, while I try to make sense of our delicate situation."

She looked at him suspiciously, still menacing him with the tip of her sword. "How do I know if you're telling the truth?"

He sighed heavily, and began cleaning his own mess all the while talking to her. "First, I'm obviously a Servant, no need denying it. Second, I didn't kill you, which erases the possibility of my being an enemy Servant. Third and most important, your Command Seals are activated and your prana is flowing into me." There was a long, uncomfortable silence. "With this much proof, I'm sure you're convinced. Now that this is out of the way, how about putting this damn rapier away, and starting cooking? These eggs aren't going to fry themselves."

She nodded, and grabbed the ingredients Odysseus had already put in front of her. "Hu...I thought I ran out of eggs?" She wondered, and looking at him for answers.

"Yeah, I got out to buy some. That's why I borrowed your clothes, sorry by the way. Want me to take them off?" Odysseus jested as he sat down at the table.

The woman paused for a moment, trying to unhear his joke, "No, It's alright...First, mind telling me your class?"

"I'm Archer," the warrior replied.

"Okay," The lady of the house had finally calmed down a bit. "What do you want me to call you?"

Odysseus froze and looked away, before grunting: "I suppose Archer is fine."

"Alright," she felt a tad more comfortable around him now that they were acquainted. "Mind telling me what the hell happened?"

"Well, around three in the morning, I was summoned," he explained.

"What? Just like that?"

"Yes. I have no idea why. And surprisingly, our contract is perfectly made. Well, almost. To complete it, I would need your name."

"I'm Elsbet Falke. Nice to meet you." She was rubbing her temple, visibly struggling to keep up with the situation. "Wait..." She suddenly stopped, turning away from the pan to look at Archer. "Why didn't you wake me?" He was obviously trying to avoid making eye contact. "Archer...You better have a good explanation." She was ready to reach out to grab her weapon again.

Archer finally spoke, "It is common knowledge that waking someone in the middle of a nightmare is a bad idea."

She turned away, now focusing on the eggs. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

She was genuinely thankful for his carefulness. Thank god her Servant was this way, she probably wouldn't have been able to put up with it if not.

The smell of eggs was in the air. The Heroic Spirit Archer didn't need to eat, but that certainly didn't mean he had no appetite. "You look like you want some."

"Gladly," the Servant obliged.

"By the way, why did you cook? I'm pretty sure you don't actually need anything beside prana to subsist." she asked, adding goose-grease and some cep.

"She always said...Penelope always said that smelling food cooking when waking up always calmed her down. I thought I'd at least try."

"Well...Her advice probably didn't apply to burned omelet." She said chuckling, which made him smile.

"Yeah...Probably not." The silence settled in, only broken by the sound of the grease creaking. Archer noticed from the corner of his eye that Elsbet was hesitating to speak up. "What is it?"

"What was she like?" She was desperately trying to avoid his gaze, looking down on the pan.

Archer tried to feign ignorance. "Who?"

"Penelope...Your wife," she murmured.

His jaws clenched, but he still managed to mumble. "Why do you ask?"

"Don't know..."

 _Lie_.

"Just felt like asking."

 _Lie_.

"You know...since she's kind of the model wife in Greek legends."

 _You're the only one who thinks that._

"Does it bother you?"

 _Yes._ "Not at all. What do you want to know?" ' _Well, it seems like I will not be the only liar in the team,'_ thought Archer, as he tried his hardest to look the same.

"Hum...How you met, I guess."

 _That's not what you want to know_. "I was on the way back from the gathering of Helen's suitors. Since I was only the king of Ithaca, claiming her hand was impossible for me. But this way I managed to lay eyes on the most beautiful women in the world." He saw his Master tensing up, and almost decided to play with fire, but it was neither the time nor the place. He continued.

"Anyway, I was traveling back to Ithaca with the uncle of Helene, whom I had befriended. His kingdom was on my way, so he offered me his hospitality. She was his daughter."

She filled two plates with the omelet, and pondered for two seconds before asking him:

"Want some coffee with that?"

"What does it taste like?" Odysseus inquired, noticing that the information the Grail provided weren't completely thorough.

"Bitter."

"Hmm...Might as well try." Elsbet brewed the coffee, and brought it with the eggs. She smiled broadly at her new companion, and began to eat.

He wondered... Was it that way for Penelope too? Holding the pain inside, keeping it to herself. Just an empty smile, stapled on her face for all to see. She interrupted his thinking.

"Well?"

"What?...Oh yes, it's very good. Thanks." And it was. The ingredients were simple, there was nothing really sophisticated about it, but it sure was good. Nothing beat the simple wine-dipped bread Penelope made, though.

"That's not what I wanted to know. You stopped right in the middle of it earlier. Tell me what happened next!"

' _I'm done. There was nothing more to say. Let's end this already. Talking about her will only bring despair, for her and for me. The only thing I can do, is try to make her avoid her mistakes. And the biggest one will surely be...'_ "Before that...I want to ask you something." He took a deep breath, ready to hurt her feelings if needed. He already knew what her wish was, but he hoped that he was somehow mistaken. That all the evidence of the ridiculous trick fate played on him were just an illusion. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be fine. He would help her to the best of his abilities, they would fight, and he wouldn't try to delve into her past, prying open emotional wounds along the way. How wonderful would that be. "What is it that you would wish from the Grail?"

Eslbet's expression turned from eagerness to confusion. "Why would you want to know?"

"I cannot fight for you if I what you'll wish for is opposed to my ideals. If it was something like mass destruction, or the End of Mankind..."

" _I would never wish for something like that_!" she yelled, looking as though he had just spit in her face.

"How would I know? I've only known you for an hour or so. I need you to tell me what it is."

She sighed, and conceded.

"Fine, I'll tell you, since I haven't got much of a choice anyway."

Her eyes gazed out of the window. I could see in her eyes the reflection of the clear blue winter sky. This moment...She had the same look in her eyes. This look had haunted his mind for nearly twenty years, and seeing it up-close was all the more painful to him.

"I want… to bring two people back from the dead."

There was no mistake. He couldn't deny it now. He heard the wood of the table creaking under his fist's pressure as his worst suspicions were confirmed.

"Alright...Then I have to tell you this. I think you're making a mistake. I think this wish will only bring you despair. But I will help you nonetheless." He rose from his seat and declared as if announcing the beginning of a war.

"And I will do everything that is in my power to change your mind!"

* * *

Here is Chapter 3! As usual, review if you have anything you want to say, or if you have any advice. The next chapters should come _really_ soon. I hope you like the characters, and want to know more about them.

Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4 - Salt in the Air

Chapter 4 - Salt in the Air **  
**

25/01/XX

She was staring down her feet, feeling an overwhelming anxiety. It had been a few days since the rumors began to spread, and now her grandfather was facing her in his office. A wall was entirely covered by a huge library, filled with ancient-looking books from the ground to the ceiling. Time passed without him saying a word, and her anxiety rose even higher. Her entire body was tense, waiting for the inevitable fall of the Damoclese's blade that was hanging above her head. Fidgeting with her fingers was all she could do. She heard a creak of wood, signaling he just rose up, followed by his steps on the old wooden floor. He came so close that she could see with her head down his usual white suit in her field of vision. It reminded her of the white labory coat he wore when he was "training" her. She could hear him breathing too. He always had breathed as loud as a bull, but it only got worse as he became older. She endured through his examination, praying it would end as soon as possible. Please… let it end, let me go. Anywhere but here, feeling naked in front of his judgmental look. Let me get out of here. Her anxiety skyrocketed, and she began to shiver.

"Lift your head. You're an Al Blumen, not some commoner ignoring the very sense of the word Pride."

His tone was ice-cold. She was only being treated as an asset, not the daughter of his son. That was how it always had been, so it wasn't much of a surprise to her. She did as he asked, looking in the distance to avoid seeing his eyes, ignoring his voice to avoid hearing the death sentence he was about to give her. She was looking beyond the library, beyond the Manor's wall, beyond the mountains. Trying to imagine a place where she could be at ease, where she had been at ease once. Searching through her memory, she couldn't find anything. No matter how deep she got, no matter how hard she tried to remember, there was nothing. Nothing but an empty manor, devoid of any kind of love and filled with pain, in a city trapped between mountains. She could hear his voice. It sounded like a boar's grunt, unintelligible and hoarse. She tried to listen, but all she could understand was a few words.  
Grail...  
Master...  
Death...  
Magi...  
Heroic Spirits...  
Honestly...it didn't make any sense. She heard the rumors already. She heard the servants talking. Laughing at her. "Good riddance", that's what they must all think. And they didn't even try to hide it from her. The worst was that she thought the same. After all, what she had been experiencing for nearly 18 years couldn't really be called a life. It merely was maintaining her own bodily functions, as she was told. Enduring it all. The pain that the teaching of alchemy engraved in her flesh and in her mind, the hatred towards her she saw in the eyes of every other being she ever met, but worst of all, the crushing loneliness of not knowing the sense of the word "family" when she was surrounded by it.

"Do you understand what this means, child?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Very well. You will meet Lord d'Entraygues when he judges you needed. The materials needed for the War have been brought to your room. Be ready by tomorrow night for the summoning. That will be all."

As she turned back, she caught a glimpse of his face. He was grinning sadistically, watching her trying her best to contain her emotions. As she walked toward the exit of the room, she could feel the weight of his gaze on her back. She was nothing but a source of amusement to his eyes.  
"I wish you luck...Gabrielle."

Her own name coming from his mouth...it made her sick. She barely heard the massive door closing behind her. Her vision went blurred, and a shrill sound began to pierce her ears. To go to her room, she would need to pass three corridors, and to go up two flights of stairs. It would be near impossible in her state. She knew it. She rested an entire minute against the wood of the door to muster enough strength, before finally beginning to walk. Her entire perception of the world was distorted. She managed to carry on, using her own inertia. She was now at the foot of the stairs, looking up to the top. These were old stairs made of marble, large and imposing. A good way to impress visitors, but highly impractical. Even more for an unsteady person. The ascension took a while, but she was absolutely unable to tell even vaguely how much time passed. Ten minutes? An hour maybe? When the door to her room came in her sight, she felt a surge of strength coming to her, with her objective in sight. She let go of any support, and tried to walk as fast as possible. The world was falling down around her.  
And where it disappeared, memories took it's place.

The dimly lit corridor transformed into what was a operating room in appearance, but was truthfully a place to torture her endlessly. The Bright Room, she nicknamed it when she was younger. Walking forward, she saw HIM enter through the door, carrying Gabrielle's unconscious body. She was only a child. He strapped her to the operating chair and prepared his instruments. By the look of incomprehension Gabrielle saw in her own eyes, she knew that she was reminiscing the first time. If not, she would have been screaming in fear already. She tried to ignore the vision, keeping her eyes and her ears shut. She managed to fend off her own voice, but strangely, his still found its way to her mind. "You see, the choice of the tool is crucial here. The sharpness of the blade is one of the key elements of course, but it has to be able to...Sustain high temperatures, to cauterise the wound as soon the blow his delt. And of course, there are also personal favorites. See, I never liked the cauterisation. Without the blood, it just isn't the same thing. Plus, seeing it gush will only make you more eager to do your work. That's why I use obsidian. Did you know that, obsidian blades are so sharp, they do not cut between the cells? They cut straight through them. That is why hey are by far my favorites."Th Well then. Let's get to work." His voice disappeared and was followed by many screams of pain, but she couldn't say who was screaming between her and her memories. Probably both. Feeling the wood of her door under her hands, she escaped from her vision and entered her room, passing out from exertion on her bed.

She woke up three hours later, feeling a lot better now that the worst was behind her. Gabrielle rose up, trying as hard as she could to avoid thinking about the meeting and it's consequences. closing up on her desk, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror on her wardrobe. She looked terrifying, in her white dress and pale as a corpse. were the items her grandfather talked about had been put. There were several books, and a small box with a paper stuck on it reading "Le Cid's Catalyst". The books were all related to the war... There was a report from the fourth War, a partial one from the fifth, as well as a book on the summoning of an Heroic Spirit as a Servant. All, except a biography of the man that would be her Servant. This promised to be a long night of studying.

* * *

She was sleeping with her head on her desk, softly breathing, her long blond hair scattered on the dark wood. The light was still on when he entered by the window. He was still wearing the same disturbing mask, carrying a gift wrapped up under his arm. Seeing her asleep, he tried to make as little noise as possible, walking on his tip-toes, before approaching his mouth from her ear. "Wakey wakey, Gabrielle." whispered the Count in her ear.  
She woke up with difficulty, lifting her head in daze before freezing up in front of the Count's mask... And yelling at the top of her lungs, falling of her chair at the same time. He wondered for a few seconds why she reacted that way, before realizing his own mistake, and frantically apologizing as well as taking the mask off.

"Sorry, oh dear, I'm so sorry, please calm down! I swear I'm not here to hurt you."  
She sat up and looked at his real face this time. He was young, probably not much older than her, and wore brown curly hair. He spoke up again, as Gabrielle was still looking at him suspiciously. "Besides, if I came here to hurt you, why would have I woke you up?"  
She was still keeping him under close watch, but at least she seemed ready to hear him out.

The girl steadily worked up the courage to ask, "Alright, then why did you come here?"

"My hobby is waking up girls in the middle of the night. I particularly love highly guarded mansions." he joked, hoping it would lighten the mood. Unfortunately for him, he was way off the mark. Gabrielle's face only showed complete incomprehension.

"What? But...why would you…"

"A joke. It was a joke. Don't stress it out," he relieved her. Seeing her calming down, he showed her the box he was carrying. "The real reason I came... Is to make you a gift." He took the box in his hands, and put it in hers.

"Why would you... No, first, what is it?" He made a sulking face, as if her question hurt him to the highest degree.

"Not telling," the Count giggled.

"Wha...But…" this was growing more confusing by the minute.

"Come on... What do you usually do with a gift box?" She began to panic, before finding the obvious answer.

"Hum...I guess...you open it?"

"E-xac-tly. Be my guest," he waited for her to open it, but to no avail.

"Why? What are you really doing here!?" She rose up, standing in front of him in a defensive posture. Anger showed on her face as blood began rushing through it.

"Why would I do such a thing? I have no reason to trust you! Waking me up doesn't mean you wouldn't hurt me in the end! You could be insane for all I know!" She was speaking faster and faster, louder and louder, tightly clutching to the box in her hands. "I just have to throw this box through the window. I just have to call for help. There's nothing you could do about that!" She was panting from her own rant, hiding her face by looking at her feet. His answer took her by surprise.

"Then why didn't you do it?" The Count's question pierced her defenses.

"... What?"

"I said, 'Why didn't you do it?'" The Count resisted the urge to grin.

"I...I don't know..." Gabrielle stuttered under the Count's pressure. He was closing up on her. It is at this very moment that she noticed how tall he actually was.

"Then I'll tell you. You didn't do it because you want to know what's inside the box."

"That's not true!" she retorted.

"Then..." He held up her hands, still carrying the gift, to her eyes level. "...Why are you still clenching to it?"  
She fell completely silent, looking at the box. Still carrying it, she got to her bed and sat on it's edge. She lifted her head, trying to look as determined as she could.

"Before opening it, I have two questions. First: Who are you?" Her eyes burned with the demand, as if interrogating him.

"I'm the Count," he flatly answered.

"of what?"

"of Cheshire."

"Like the cat?"

"No. Like the county of Cheshire, from where I, and the Cat, come from." He was smiling warmly as he gave his answer, as if he had expected her to ask this exact question.

"I suppose this is all you will tell me on your identity?

"I'm afraid so." He gave a high-pitched chuckle.

"Well then, there's no helping it." she admitted, shrugging her shoulders. "Okay then, question two: Why do you want to give me what is in this box?" He dropped his amused expression, to switch for a serious one. He took the box containing the catalyst she left on her desk earlier, and dropped it in her other hand.

"To give you a choice."  
He put his index on the wooden box Nataniel Al Blumen gave her a few hours ago, all the while maintaining eye contact.  
"You can go with the flow, and do as you were told. Wait here for the orders of d'Entraygues. Summon Le Cid, and your life will probably continue like it has for the 18 previous years. Or you'll die. Or..."  
He switched his finger to the gift box.  
"You can choose the unexpected. The adventure, the excitement! You can say no. Make a choice, where no one ever let you have one. The result will be all yours. What Gabrielle Al Blumen, as an individual, chose in the end."  
He got up, and closed up on the window, still open on the night's air.  
"But remember... Only the dead fish swims with the flow." He left on these last words. She barely slept that night: she had way too much on her mind.

* * *

26/01/XX  
She was sitting on her bed, catalysts in both hands. In one hand were leather reins, which she took out of the wooden box. In the other was a piece of red cloth she discovered inside the gift box. A large summoning circle had been traced with chalk on the floor. She knew she had no real reason to throw away the reins. He certainly was a powerful Heroic Spirit, and his character wouldn't be much of an issue. Everything led her to this choice. The alternative was nothing but a pueril act of rebellion. It was obvious that she HAD to summon Le Cid.  
But then...Why? Why hadn't she already decided, if the choice was so obvious? She was perfectly unable to comprehend what was going on inside her head. One thing was sure: whatever the outcome was, it would have serious consequences. As the summoning hour was coming, she was backed into a corner. She needed to choose, now, before it was too late. Unable to do it herself, she thought that leaving the choice to fate wasn't so bad. Taking a coin out of her pocket, she muttered to herself:

"Heads, Le Cid. Tails...Well, we'll see." She threw the piece of metal in the air, watching it turn and turn in the air. And the unexpected kicked in. Before the coin had even touched the ground, she grabbed the reins, put them in the box, opened the window and threw them as far as she could. There was no going back now.  
Gabrielle began to sing the Aria, barely standing up from the many contradicting emotions that were bottled up inside her. Fear, excitement, joy, anxiety... Repeating the words she learned the day before, her mind began to wander, and fixed on the catalyst she was holding in her hand. A simple piece of red cloth. Nothing particular. It could have belonged to any hero from any Era. She just hoped the character of the man she was about to summon wouldn't be too much of a hassle to deal with. As the end of the chant approached, she saw the blue light coming from the circle brighten suddenly, to the point it blinded her as she sang the last line. Wind came forth from the circle, and as she was still covering her eyes to protect them from the light, an odd detail surprised her. This gust of air...had a nostalgic feeling. It smelt weird. It smelt... Salty?

"Hey...It's you right?" She immediately looked up to her Servant. All the expectations, all the possibilities she envisioned were utterly crushed away. All her thoughts disappeared at the same time. It felt as if the world stopped from spinning for an instant, to let her capture the beauty of the scene that unraveled in front of her. Her long red hair fluttered behind her, framing her face where two eyes of emerald lied. In front of her, stood a woman, wearing garments that were strongly linked to one Era, and one region. Over the knee boots, white shirt, a large belt and a long leather jacket. There was no error: The Caribbean Sea, in the 18th century. A pirate... She had summoned a pirate. And not just any pirate at that. A woman. She was completely dumbfounded. Just what did the Count intend to achieve by giving her such a Servant?

"Hey...You hear me?" the girl hesitantly asked.

"Loud and clear. You're my master, right?" The servant replied with gusto.

"I think this is yours." Gabrielle lifted the piece of cloth she was still holding, showing it to her.

"Wow! It got to this era in one piece?" the pirate dashed over to her Master, quickly touching the fabric in her hand. "That's pretty impressive. I never thought a thing like that would make it so far. I just bought it because I liked the color and I needed it."  
She was speaking very carelessly, as if she was talking to someone she had known for a long time. "I see..." She was looking up to her in awe, when she noticed a streak of red cloth tying up her hair, the same she held in her hand.  
"I guess it shouldn't be surprising that long hair would get in your eyes and be a bother."  
Gabrielle lost herself in her mind, not noticing the annoyed look her Servant threw her. Seeing that she wasn't about to snap out of it, she took the matter in her own hands.

"I get that talking about old pieces of junk is cool and all, but shouldn't we, I don't know, share names and make a contract?" the Servant blurted.  
Gabrielle blushed immediately, ashamed of her own lack of initiative.

"Yes of course, I apologize. My name is Gabrielle Al Blumen. What is yours?" she smiled, despite the dangerous situation she had just created.

"I'm Mary. Mary Read. You can call me Rider." Grabbing her by the shoulder, she smiled broadly and declared: "Let's fight together!"

* * *

 **A/N: Here is Chapter 4! I hope you enjoyed it, since I've been told by early readers that it's pretty great. As usual, don't hesitate to review it, any kind of criticism is most welcomed. The next chapter will be way longer, since the city will be presented in it as well. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5 - Young and Old

6 – The very Young, the very Old

It had been many years since Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg had visited this dimension. His visit, as always completely unexpected, had managed to bring about even more whispers than usual, much to his curiosity. So much so, that he didn't refrain from eavesdropping on some students gossiping in the hallway after his passage. Some would have said that such a shameful behaviour was underneath them, but again, they were the one gossiping first.

"Do you think he'll go see him ? There's no way he doesn't know about him now that he's been here for two weeks."

"It's still possible he ignores his existence. After all the Queen herself made it clear that the first to reveal it wouldn't come through unscathed." replied a skinny blond, with glasses as thick as the bottom of a bottle.

"I would be more than surprised if he hadn't his own network. Surely a Magus as old as he is should have something like this."

"I don't think so. Then again, I don't think anyone can read him. He's quite the eccentric after all..." His partner giggled, before pursuing.

"That's what you'd call an understatement !"

Considering the timing right, Zelretch came out of his hiding place and faced the two youngsters. The look of pure terror on their faces was an entertaining one.

"Now then, gentlemen, I would like to hear more about what you were discussing earlier..." Grabbing each one of them under one of his arms, he added: "And don't worry, it'll remain our little secret !"  
The two of them had never met such a terrifying smile.

Zelretch was searching the huge library to find the object of the rumors, barely containing his excitement. If what they said was true, then he would surely have his share of fun for the day. Anyway, he had to meet him first. The size of the building made it hard to search for a specific person, and considering how the staff viewed him as nothing but major trouble incoming, they would be less than thrilled to help him. As such, he continued searching on his own. Then again, let's say their path crossed...Since he had no idea what he looked like, he could very well just pass by him. For now, he gambled on his aura to identify him among the many students. Going past the section called "History of the Clocktower", a familiar voice called out to him.

"Searching for someone? I hope it's me! I'd get very jealous otherwise." His voice was high-pitched. His head was covered in curly brown hair, and he showed a radiant smile. Zelretch immediately greeted his old friend back.

"Victor! I'd say fancy seeing you here, if there was the slightest chance you didn't come here on purpose," the sorcerer teased him.

"You could at least pretend for a while. I'm the only one making any efforts here," he replied making an exaggerated sulking face.

"Alright, alright. It's just...I'm dying to meet him. Did you?" Zelretch asked, looking up at his tall, thin friend.

"No, but I took an interest nonetheless. Turns out...He could be a lot more than the sole rumours let it think." The oldest of the two mages stopped dead in his tracks.

"What the...Just what the hell is this kid?" he blurted out, uncertain to understand the full scope of his potential.

"You'll see soon enough. But first...I have a favour to ask of you."  
Zelretch had just started walking again, that this new surprise made him stop, again. Keeping his eyes on Victor, he spoke very carefully. "I'm listening."

"I need you to give him a link to his own Creation. You'll understand after talking with him for a while," Victor explained.

"Alright… But I don't work for free. What's in this deal for me?"

"Two things. First: I'll tell you where he his."

"Guess that would help, but I would find him eventually...That's not worth it and you know it. What's the real bargain chip?" Zelretch asked.  
Victor sighed, and looked at him in the eyes.

"I'll concede to the proposition you made twenty years ago." Zeltretch couldn't believe what he just heard.

"No..."

"Yes."

"Well, damn...I can't possibly refuse now," Zelretch sighed. "I'll go right away then. Where is he?"

"You'll find him under a pile of books in the Mundane History Section."

"Great. Well then, you remember the address?"

"As if it was yesterday. I'll meet you there… Let's say, Wednesday at noon, next week?"

"Deal. You'll see I was right. Chez Tante Juliette IS the best restaurant in Paris."

"And I think a restaurant the size of a shoe-box can't possibly be the best. But I will be there nonetheless."

"You better be. Now then, 'til next week." he said, as he waved him goodbye, heading to the section of the library Victor had indicated him.  
As he looked over his friend walking away, he apologized.

"I'm sorry...I'll have to borrow this old broken toy of yours." He grinned, appreciating how smoothly the preparations for the War were going.

He found him at the exact location, and in the exact situation Victor had indicated. Surrounded by piles and piles of thick dusty history books, a child was sitting, head burrowed in one of these books. His long brown hair, surprising for a boy of his age, was tied up so that it wouldn't bother him while reading. This part of the library was completely devoid of any life beside the two of them. For many minutes, Zelretch found himself unable to shake him out of the world he had built around himself. He sat close by, looking at him. He was a fast reader, as someone would expect from an eight year-old who was already deemed as a genius. As time went on, he caught up on his routine. Every now and then, the child wrote down something in a book of his own, but never on those in front of him. 'Ah...So it's research he's doing' Zelretch deduced, before grabbing one of the books to determine the subject of his research.

The Capital, by Marx. Not the first thing you would expect from a child. To broad, let's see the next one. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, by Max Weber? Was he serious? Probably, and at least he had a broad idea of what he might study. Or so he thought. But his supposition were quickly crushed to pieces.  
The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire.  
De Doctrina Christiana, by Saint Augustine.  
Freud, Nietzsche, Spinoza, Descarte, Socrate, Plato, he had read them all. There also were biographies of the men that shaped history, from Alexander the Great to Gandhi.  
This kid wasn't studying a precise subject, he was reconstructing the entire course of human history. But from picking these books, he had noticed a pattern. The books he had read first, the furthest ones, were talking about modern history. So as you approached him, you went back in history. Strangely, he wasn't trying to understand how the world came to be as it is. No, he searched for something else. This kid was indeed an oddity, even considering his obvious genius. There are few eight years old able to read (and he was sure of it, understand) Marx or read Latin. No, what was uncanny was his field of research. To a Magus, studying the history of the mundane part of the population is nothing but a joke, a completely useless thing. But this boy was not only studying it when he knew that his genius expanded to thaumaturgy. He was conducting an experiment. He was trying to find something hidden somewhere in all these books. He was searching for a Truth.

As he closed his book, he finally noticed his presence. Looking at him conspicuously, it seemed as though he wouldn't speak up first.  
"Good evening, Bearach. I'm Zelretch."

"I know." he replied, boasting about his knowledge in a childish manner, much to the old vampire's surprise considering his previous behaviour.

"What else do you know?" asked Zelretch, hoping the child was an honest one.

"I know that you're a Dead Apostle Ancestor, one of the twenty-seven oldest vampires in the world." He put the book on the desk.

"I know that you're the Second True Magician, the only one capable of the Kaleidoscope magic of transdimensional travel." the boy turned around in his chair. "I also know I will be able to kill you when I'm older." Well, as honesty goes, he sure was pretty gifted on that regard.

"Then..." Zelretch tried to look as scary as he could, which wasn't really difficult, considering his perfectly trimmed beard, his dark garments and his build. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Of course I am. I'm not an idiot." His answer made him break his stance by smiling.

"I know as much. Well, it's more hard to not notice it than anything else."

"Did you come to kill me, Lord Schweinorg?"

"No 'Lord' when you're talking to me, please. Just call me Zelretch. And no, I didn't come to kill you. A friend asked me to give you something, so I can't really kill you after offering you a gift. "  
He looked at him even more conspicuously, something the vampire didn't think was possible. "What do you want to give me?"

"I don't know yet. To know, you need to explain me your "Creation"."  
His eyes widened by surprise, so much that Bearach grabbed the book he was writing in and put it behind his back in a desperate attempt to protect it.

"How and what do you know about it?" the genius demanded.

"The friend that asked me was observing you, and I know absolutely nothing about it. Now get on with it, we don't have all night since I suppose since as mature as you are, your body is still one of an eight year old."

"Alright." he finally conceded, opening the book in front of the chair where Zelretch was sited.

"This is my Creation. At the heart of it, lies an interrogation, based on a statement. History is a fragile object. Many times, history changed on the decisions of various Nation leaders. But the impact of a change in history isn't always the same. The assassination of JFK hasn't got a weight as heavy as Napoleon's rise, for instance. And so, I searched for the event carrying the heaviest consequences on history, beside nuclear annihilation."

"Why not? After all, it's the obvious answer. One incident during the Cuban Crises, and you wouldn't be here to talk about it."  
Seeing that he wasn't immediately answering, Zeltretch noticed something surprising. Bearach was embarrassed.

"I know, I know...It's just...It's not fun..."  
He tried to hide his laughter the best he could, pretending to focus on the book.

"You're right, I didn't see things this way." he replied, still laughing.  
Coughing to hide his embarrassment, the boy continued.

"So I reconstructed history, starting from today to determine that the civilization that had the biggest influence on the world was..."  
He grabbed from under the table a rolled up map that showed the Mediterranean sea during the first century. All the coast was covered in red, as well as many other territories.

"...The Roman Empire. Their influence is unbelievably heavy. Law, values, religion, culture...Their legacy still weighs heavily on us. This is their territory at their apogee. But of course, Rome wasn't built in one day. In 100 B.C, the situation was drastically different. At that time, they still had an opponent."  
He took out a second map, this time from an earlier period, before the fall of Carthage.

"At this time, the two city-states fought three wars against each others, called the Punic wars, all of which were lost by Carthage. The first weakened them, and the third brought their end by the hand of Scipio the African. But the second...The second was a peculiar one."  
At this point he rose, grabbing a precise book, handing it to the Lord. It was the story of two men: Hannibal Barca, and his rival Scipio.

"The second war wasn't a war to reclaim the many territories they had lost in the first war. No, the ambition of the genius tactician that was Hannibal was to destroy Rome."  
The child was certainly passionate. A fire had been lit his eyes, that much was obvious, but his gestures stayed composed. At such an age he already had the composure of one would await from someone of such a high birth. His analysis capacity was frightening too...It was just a game, but his reasoning thus far seemed perfect, as was his research. He didn't leave anything to chance.

"BUT... And that's the key point...He didn't. He came close to it. Right at the feet of the walls of Rome..." His gaze became distant, as he contemplated the Defeat of Hannibal. The gears of his mind turning on and on and on inside his head, processing and determining the cause and effects of a battle which victory rested on an edge. Rome stands, and Carthage falls. Rome falls, and Carthage stands. This was were the road forked, this was where it all began. Our world, and another.

"As you probably guessed, I am convinced that the most significant event in history is this battle, where in the event of Hannibal's victory, the rise of a Carthaginian empire was likely." Zeltretch expected, at first, the demonstration to stop there. But he remembered the favor Victor had asked of him, and he kept on listening, expecting more to come.

"Having arrived to this conclusion, I expected my work to be done. But I was utterly dissatisfied with it. Indeed, there was no guarantee that Carthage would rise at the level Rome achieved: After all, it had taken many enlightened ruler and military leaders to build the Empire. And the stepping stone for them was Cesar."  
He took out another biography, this one significantly thicker, of the conqueror of the Gaul.  
"Unfortunately, I haven't mastered the Second Magic yet, contrary to you. So the only thing I could do was to create the perfect conditions by myself."  
He showed with his hand the first page of the book the vampire had seen him writing in at first, on which was written "Hannioum Barca – Rise of the Carthaginian Empire".

"This is my design. This entails the formation of this man, the one that would bring a simple City- State to the status of Ruler of the entirety of the known world. Everything is here, from his birth under the blessing of the goddess Oum, to the campaign leading to the final destruction of their sworn enemy, Rome. This is the Creation, I believe, your friend was talking about."  
He sat in front of him, his eyes filled with pride. He tried to take his book back, but Zeltretch made a request that surprised him.

"Would you mind me reading it?" He said as warmly as possible, trying to soothe the child.

"I don't think the delusions of an eight year old should be worth your time, my Lord."  
So he didn't want him to read it. Unfortunately for the boy, he had to.

"I will decide by myself what is worth my attention or not. Your Creation as be deemed worthy by me. Would you be so foolish to go against me?"  
He reluctantly gave it back, visibly embarrassed that his hobby would become an object of attention of one of the most powerful beings ever known to humanity.  
He began reading in silence, feeling anxiety rising up at the other side of the table. After a few minutes had passed, a servant came in their direction. It seemed that he was inches away from passing out of fear, as he was already sweating as if he had just ran a marathon. He mustered the strength to speak up, surprisingly enough.

"L-l-lord Zeltretch, may I inquire about y-y-your presence at the side of our young M-m-master?"

"I'm currently interested in his rather peculiar situation. What business did you have with him?"

"I was s-s-supposed to take him back to his quarters, my Lord."  
Seeing the library already tainted in the red of the setting sun, he suddenly became conscious of the hour.

"It is quite late for such a young boy, indeed. He was so mature I forgot that his body was surely unable to follow. But I'm afraid I'm going to need him for a little while."  
He tried giving a reassuring smile, but failed spectacularly as he saw the butler running away. Having finished reading, he closed it and handed it back.  
"I'll go fetch your gift, just wait here."

Bearach waited, his mind in profound disarray. He was currently hesitating between fleeing as his servant just did, but then he would never know what the gift had been. Moreover, angering such a powerful man wasn't a reasonable thing to do, considering he still had no power of his own. Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and he stayed. After five minutes of quiet, he heard high-heels clacking, with a regular rhythm worthy of a soldier. He knew who was coming, and he was overjoyed at the perspective of the fun he was about to have.  
As he had easily guessed, the Head of the most powerful family of the Tower, the Queen, Barthomeloi Lorelei. She was visibly anxious, a state he had never saw her in. Teasing her would be unbelievably easy today.

"Good evening, Lorelei."  
Her eyebrow twitched. She didn't care one bit about her surname. What wielded the power was her first name. And he knew it. As he saw her face freeze in a forced smile barely contained, he thanked the vampire for the opportunity he had given him.

"Good evening, Azelchior."  
Oh he loved that part. That moment when she forced herself to say his own name when he had spit on hers just seconds before.

"I understand you wish to see me?"

"Indeed. We informed me that you were seen in the company of the precise Lord we had asked you to avoid. Would you care to explain yourself?"

"It's rather simple really. An acquaintance of Lord Schweinorg managed to spy on me and learn of my research subject with astonishing ease, despite your best efforts. I guess such incompetence would be awaited from someone as useless as you."  
This wasn't true. She was an astoundingly gifted Magus, head of a powerful family. Anyone else would have been immediately taught the extent of her capacities, the hard way. But fortunately for him, and to his highest delight, she needed him. And so, he was the only human being authorised to insult her, giving him a rather enjoyable (albeit useless) power. And he intended to use it fully now that she was visibly shaken.

"I wonder...Do you cower in fear to the very thought that he discovered your intentions? Or worse, are you afraid of me preferring to follow his teachings more than yours? Tell me...I'm dying to know which it is."  
She never answered, as Zelretch stepped out of a portal the next instant.

"I'm back."

"I can see that." Bearach responded ironically, waiting for his teacher's reaction to his sudden return. "With the gift I assume?"

"Indeed. Let me fetch it, one second." As he searched in the pouch he carried on his belt, he finally noticed the presence of the Queen.

"Oh, good evening dear. I hadn't noticed you. Good grief, what happened to you? You look like pale as a corpse."  
It seemed that Bearach wasn't the only one taking pleasure in her suffering, as Zelretch was biting his upper lip in a desperate attempt not to laugh.

"You're quite right. I think it would be in your best interest to retire to your own appartements. A good night of sleep might help."

"Leave now, the mature ones have a serious discussion planned, and I'm afraid you're still too immature to take a part in it."  
And now they was talking to her if she was nothing but a child, speaking in scolding tone. Seeing as she was under their joint pressure, the only option, and the one she took, was to retreat. But not before making his punishment clear to him.

"If you survive this, you will wish you hadn't during tomorrow's lessons. Well then, I wish you to a pleasant talk."  
They waited for her to disappear behind the shelves, but just in hearing distance to burst into laughter. Just imaging the look on her face was enough for them.

"Still, will you be alright with her as a teacher?" inquired the Dead Apostle, still chuckling.

"Yes. Anyway, I don't intend to be her student for very long. Five years should be enough considering my current pace."

"And then what?"

"Then what? How could I possibly see this far in the future. I'm only an eight year old boy, my Lord."  
He had managed to calm down, but his obvious lie made him laugh even harder.

"Alright, you don't want to say it, that's fine."

"It's just that...I'm not sure yet. Once I'm sure, you'll know. Along with everybody else."  
The old vampire and the young boy faced each other, feeling a sense of understanding between them. "But honestly...I'm dying to know what you brought me. Come on, it's for me after all."  
His eyes were sparkling. He was not hoping to get a powerful artifact, or something like that. He was only excited by the possibilities of studying that an object coming from another dimension would bring.  
He showed, in the palm of his hand, an amulet carved in ebony decorated with streaks of silver, representing a woman behind a streak of lightning.

"If this is what I think...Then this amulet..."  
He took it, tracing the design with his finger.

"Belonged to Hannioum Barca."  
Zeltretch got up, already walking away from him.

"I'll leave it to your imagination."  
The sun had finally disappeared, leaving darkness behind him. London's night lights were already lit, as well as the many chandelier towering over him. With all these lights, you couldn't even see the moon.  
He had a week to kill, waiting for his meeting with Victor. Well, since he was going to Paris, might as well enjoy the trip...  
He disappeared again.

* * *

7 years later – 25/01/XX

Protected by the walls of the old fortress, the summoning went smoothly. After all, the Throne of Heroes wasn't limited to one dimension, as he wasn't bounded to any concept of time either. When you possess a catalyst to a Heroic Servant, he came forth. That was the rule. And that was what happened.  
He was there, in front of him. Tall, with long black hair and dark skin. His armor was sharing the same materials and colors as the amulet: Darkness and light, ebony and silver.

"I ask of you..." His voice was a marvel in itself. It was the voice of the greatest leader another world had ever known, and as awaited of him, it had a natural authority and charisma to it.  
"Are you my Master?"

Bearach could barely contain his excitement at this point, yet he forced himself to look compose and in control. He wasn't about to give a bad first impression.

"Yes. And You ought to be Hannibal Barca. What would be your Class, if I may ask?"

"I'm more or less of a Lancer, but I play this role in this War."

"Well then, before delving further into our situation, a little history lesson is necessary."  
He turned his back to him and fetched his book, before adding:

"My name is Bearach Azelchior, and we need to win this Holy Grail War."


	6. Chapter 6 - Deal with the Devil

Special thanks to my awesome Beta Reader, Chris. He's doing an awesome job, and he deseverves recognition for it. Thanks Chris!

* * *

7 – Deal with the Devil

In the dead of the night, one could only hear the low humming of multiples PC's in this dimly lit room. He was alone.

 _Chatroom/An4rchyReboot_

 _BlackFlag : You guys watched his last video?_  
 _Exile : Yeah. That girl really surprised me. Dropping "Worse comes to worse, we'll make a revolution". She was saying that as a joke but still. It's pretty neat to see that people don't discard the idea of violent revolt anymore._  
 _Ideal_punk : Same. But I think he's being a little too optimistic there._  
 _BlackFlag : Watch out for Ideal's "Apocalypse is on our door-way" speech guys._  
 _Exile : Take cover XD_  
 _Ideal_Punk : Come on, seriously, you're the same. You know perfectly what's going to come down on us, and still, you think mankind will make it somehow._  
 _BlackFlag : I just think we still have a chance to survive as a society._  
 _Ideal_Punk : Yeah right. What are you waiting for, a Messiah maybe?_  
 _BlackFlag : ..._  
 _Exile : Not cool dude._  
 _BlackFlag : FUCK YOU Ideal. It's not because I disagree with you that I'm automatically some kind of idiot, or that I suddenly became voting cattle.  
Ideal_Punk : Alright, alright, I'm sorry, it was just to trip you off.  
Exile : Worked well enough ;)  
\- Exile has signed off (Connection reset by peer)  
\- Ideal_punk has signed off (Connection reset by peer)  
\- AllMadHere has logged in_

 _AllMadHere : Hello!_  
 _BlackFlag : Welcome! New here?_  
 _AllMadHere : Yes. Came here to meet you in fact Dorian! I made us some room to talk ^^_  
 _BlackFlag : How do you know my name?_  
 _AllMadHere : Come on...Aren't you a little bit curious?_  
 _BlackFlag : What the fuck do you want? If it's your idea of a joke, I'm not laughing. Asshole._  
 _AllMadHere : Right at the matter at hands, as you wish! I have to say I appreciate your...cooperation._  
 _BlackFlag : I just want this over with. Just say what you have to say, and get the hell out of here._  
 _AllMadHere : Do you believe in conspiracy theories?_  
 _BlackFlag : No, now get out. I don't want to ban you by principle, but my patience isn't limitless._  
 _AllMadHere : Come on, I have proof...Just read my file. If you still don't believe me after reading them, I'll leave. But you have to read the two files. It's not like you have something better to do anyway._  
 _BlackFlag : True. Send the damn thing already._  
 _\- AllMadHere uploads "Entraygue's Family – Part 1"_  
 _BlackFlag : Alright I read the damn thing. I don't believe a line. Don't misunderstand: the proofs are pretty solid, and the scheme seems at least of the domain of the plausible. But their main goal is ridiculous. Getting read of the Church's influence? Really? That's just bullshit. I don't think anything could convince me at this point: I think Part 2 will likely be a major disappointement._  
 _AllMadHere : Never say never ^^_  
 _AllMadHere : ABRACADABRA!_  
 _BlackFlag : You're freaking me out. How the hell did you do this? You hid speakers in my fucking room?_  
 _AllMadHere : Of course not. It's magic._  
 _BlackFlag : Look, I'm done. You're just a creep. I'm sick of this game. You're banned._  
 _\- User AllMadHere (IP ) has been banned from the chatroom_  
 _\- AllMadHere has logged in_

 _AllMadHere : No we're not. You still have to read the second part._  
 _AllMadHere uploads "Entraygue's Family – Part 2"_  
 _BlackFlag : The hell?_  
 _BlackFlag : Fuck I read your thing. Gotta think, brb._  
 _AllMadHere : Take your time. I suppose it's a lot to take in._  
 _BlackFlag : I have three questions._  
 _AllMadHere : Deliver._  
 _BlackFlag : 1, how did you get your hands on this?_  
 _AllMadHere : Please. If you want to ask questions, ask relevant ones at least._  
 _Blackflag : 2, what the hell are you? One of these magus?_  
 _AllMadHere : Yes, but I'm also a vampire. And the plural form of Magus is Magi._  
 _BlackFlag : You're kidding I hope._  
 _AllMadHere : I'm afraid I'm not. You'll become used to these things in the upcoming years._  
 _BlackFlag : Alright, what's the next thing, werewolfs?_  
 _AllMadHere : I doubt you'll meet one, they're pretty secretive._  
 _BlackFlag : OH COME ON! Seriously._  
 _AllMadHere : I'm just being honest here._  
 _Blackflag : I'm sure you are. Well then, final question. Why?_  
 _AllMadHere: Because I want to see what you will do._  
 _BlackFlag : I don't know if you're aware, but I'm not one of those damn Magi or something. There's no way I can do anything!_  
 _AllMadHere : But if you had that power...If I gave it to you, I wonder...What would you do with it..._  
 _BlackFlag : You're a fucking psychopath._  
 _AllMadHere : Maybe. But I'm also the guy who can give you what you need in order to change things, the way you dreamed of doing it for such a long time._  
 _BlackFlag : This won't end well for me right?_  
 _AllMadHere : Probably not._  
 _BlackFlag : You'll just give me power, you'll not force me to do anything with it?_  
 _AllMadHere : Exactly._  
 _BlackFlag : Alright deal. Fuck. I think I know what Faust must have felt._

* * *

 _04/02/XX_

The low humming was still there. He was still alone. But not for long, not anymore.

 _Chatroom/An4rchyReboot_

 _BlackFlag : I'll have to go on the scene in like ten minutes._  
 _Exile : First time you'll post it for everyone to see right?_  
 _Black_

 _Flag : Yeah. Everything's ready, and with him arriving tomorrow, we couldn't dream of a better moment._  
 _Ideal_Punk : You're gonna make some waves, that's a given._  
 _BlackFlag : If everything works out, we're gonna make a lot more than that._  
 _Exile : Not we, you._  
 _BlackFlag : Come on, you know it's not true. I just came up with the idea._  
 _Ideal_Punk : And the name._  
 _Exile : And the speeches. And the mode of action._  
 _Ideal_Punk : Mister "pissed-off because he said I believed in Messiah's" ended becoming one._  
 _BlackFlag : You know it's the last thing I want._  
 _Exile : Ideal's right. In the end, this project of yours wouldn't go on without you._  
 _BlackFlag : I'm convinced of the opposite. The mask is enough._  
 _Exile : That's just wishful thinking. Masks, symbols, ideals, it's the same: they need someone to wield them._  
 _BlackFlag : We'll see about that. The live will begin shortly, gotta go._  
 _Ideal_Punk : GL!_

Dorian checked the time on his watch and closed his laptop before carrying it under his arm. He could already hear the many voices coming from the room where he was to make his speech in a few minutes. He was lucky the rain had hold off until now; half built buildings aren't known for their insulation. But the air was heavy. It would rain tonight.

The mask was lying on a coffee table in the center of the room. It was one of the many items, magical or not, the Count had shipped him over the years it had taken to Dorian to learn enough magic to achieve his goals. Not much really: mainly how to manage his Magic Circuits, and some Formal-craft. But it was enough, considering the upcoming Grail War. Soon, he would have enough power to turn the table against those who thought no one could ever hurt them. He would show them how wrong they were, be them Magi or politicians. And tonight, for the first time, they would see his face. They will soon learn to fear it.

Time to put it on, and begin the show.

He stepped up in front of the crowd. They all knew him under his pseudonym, Masquerade, and all of them recognized him as a fighter of their cause. They saw him when he marched in front of the demonstration against austerity. They saw him throwing rocks at the mayor's office. They saw him step up against the police force. And every time they had followed his example, following the Mask and the bright-red hair. And now for the first time, he would speak. And they all came to listen.

He put his laptop, showing him live on internet, at his left, before facing the heterogeneous group currently judging him from their seats. The weak signal only permitted to send a video of mediocre quality, but it didn't matter as long as the audio was perfect, and he strapped a microphone to his black shirt to make sure of it. He took a deep breath, and began.

"Good evening, my friends. I expect that some of you might know me, but I will present myself nonetheless." Dorian bowed deeply, in an exaggerated motion. "The name of this mask is Masquerade, and it is thus the name I bare. I thank you all for answering my call, as we have much to discuss tonight. And I think you all know what we will talk about." He took a short break to let it sink in. It would be much easier later on to make them accept the truth of what needed to be done. "As you all know _our_ city will welcome a very special _guest_ next ...A _traitor_ whose name we all know."

He accentuated lightly some of the words, :making them contrast deeply with his overwhole calm speech.

"Our "democratically" elected president has trampled on everything he was supposed to believe in and betrayed the trust of the people to the highest degree. Upon seeing this, a child would ask… 'If he's supposed to represent the people, and he betrayed him, why is he still president?' That is indeed a question worth answering. And asking this question is answering do not trust him. We do not trust anyone that would occupy this post. We do not trust them with our future, because they're too busy burying their heads in the sand to try finding a solution to the problems they put us into.

Politicians, preferring to protect private interests more than the people.  
Bankers and traders, lying to make us believe everything will be alright.  
Scientists, lying to protect the same private interests.  
Companies and their marketing, screwing with us, trying to always sell more and more.  
They're wanking on top of their piles of gold, praying to a God they no longer believe in, wishing that the party would never end!"

He was already short of breath, screaming his belief and walking around on the scene he created for himself.

"There is no easy solution, that much is true. But the beginning is the hardest part of it. Because I assure you: once the first falls, they all fall. They gently lined themselves like fucking dominoes. All we have to do: make the first one fall. Show them how wrong they are, show them how weak they are. The power is ours. Let's take it back."

He could see his speech's effect clearly. The minds were burning with anger, all directed towards a single man. And he was coming to them.

"We'll begin with our city, swiftly, on this very night. That way, we can give a warm welcome to our dear guest. In the meantime, steel your nerves and sharpen your fangs. Pass the word. He will not get out of Laval unscathed."

He closed the laptop, not once looking at the webcam. Whoever would look at this wasn't an ally. And he had no intention to address them. They wouldn't take this seriously anyway. No, this was for after. When they would panic and look back at it, wondering why they did nothing. They would search for him, turn every stone to find the "Masked terrorist".  
It would sure be fun to see them run around in circle.

But first, he needed his Servant. He turned back and climbed upstairs to his personal working place. Everything was already set. He just had to wait a few hours for his Od Peak to arrive. A familiar sound began to echo in the almost empty building. It had began to rain.

* * *

As the chant ended, he immediately felt his Servant violently strain his reserves of prana. The transfer was so brutal that Dorian fell to his knees, breathing heavily, trying his utmost to avoid passing out. Lifting his head, he saw him. This man was a true giant, his head not far from the ceiling. Wearing nothing but a skirt and a helmet of greek origin, he wielded an immense shield in his left hand, and a spear in his other hand. As one would await from a member of the Berserker class, his eyes showed nothing but madness. As his teacher had warned him, any communication would obviously be pointless. Well, fruitless, since it meant something to him, even though his Servant wouldn't understand.

"Berserker...You might not hear me, but the greatest heroic deed of all times awaits you...You will wake mankind up."

* * *

A/N: For those of you that didn't know, I began another Fanfiction that serves as a prequel for Break Chains. However, you don't need to read it to appreaciate it! The main link will be Elsbet's past, but I will also reveal it in Break Chains. So, don't feel obliged! But any opinion is of course warmly welcomed, so reviews are very appreaciated!


	7. Chapter 7 - An unfanged Wolf

Chapter 5 – An unfanged Wolf

26/01/XX

He arrived at the airport from the international section, and was welcomed by a civil servant of the immigration. The man immediately seemed sympathetic with his round glasses and bushy moustache.

"Passport please."

He casually gave it to him, knowing that everything was in order.

"Atko...Bezimen...Am I pronouncing it correctly?" the man inquired, much to Atko's surprise.

"Yes. Is there an issue?", anxious at the idea of administrative problems with his man quickly reassured him.  
"Oh don't worry, it's just… This name doesn't strike me as british. Where does it come from, if I might ask?"

Atko noticed in the corner of his eye two military men watching over the airport, and in particular… himself. No surprise there. You always feel if someone is from your own keen. Let's hope the agent's questions are pure curiosity, and nothing more.

"It's Serbian. I guess I'm what you might call a refugee," Akto said. The man's eyes widened in front of his own lack of manners, and he began to apologize profusely.  
"I'm sorry sir, I shouldn't have..."

But Atko cut him short before he had an heartstroke.

"It's quite alright, don't worry. I sincerely thank you for your warm welcome, and I wish you a good day."

He exited the building, still feeling the soldier's gaze weighting on his back, and noticed two more in front of the entrance. Well, if they're as present as that in Laval, it sure will be useful...Not that they could do anything against a Magus, much less a Servant, but it would make the most reckless Masters think twice before doing anything stupid. Spotting a taxi, he waved at him and entered the rear of the car.

" _Vous parlez français_?" asked the driver, before turning to face him. His height and build could have been intimidating to most people, if not for the huge smile he displayed. It really gave him a strange aura, seeing this giant canned up in this small car.

"No, only english I'm afraid" he said apologetically.  
"Do not worry, I am not bad with english. Anyway, I do not have much of a choice, considering the job!" he said laughing. "Where do you want to go? Laval?" he guessed. Not that it was difficult: after all, it was the biggest city in the area. Most of the foreigners getting off here would certainly go there, at least at first.

"Yes. 381, road of the University. It's in the campus."  
"I see… It should take between 20 and 30 minutes. A little less, if we are lucky. Well then, I have to ask… Do you want me to make conversation or do you prefer silence?" he said, while starting the engine and engaging in the traffic.  
"That's a rather odd question. Why do you ask?" inquired Atko, curious of the man's strange question.  
"Well, it is a little quirk of mine… One of our comedians said that he hated taxi drivers. When he was asked why, he said that either they talked, talked, and talked when you just wanted to be left in peace, or they did not speak a word when you were inches away from dying of loneliness. So I try to avoid that..." he explained, smiling at his own quirky habit.

Atko pondered for a few seconds, before deciding.

"I guess talking wouldn't be a bad thing."

The car had already left the vicinity of the airport, heading to Laval.

"You have any topic in mind?" the driver asked.  
"Not really… What do you usually discuss with your customers?" he asked, while looking at the scenery passing in front of his eyes. They were at the bottom of the valley, with mountains surrounding them in the distance, on their left and on their right. The airport was a good distance away from the city, surrounded by the countryside.

"Is it your first time here?"  
"In France or in Laval?"  
"Both, I suppose." the driver anwered, trying to know more about his passenger.  
"I've been in France a couple of times already, but it's my first time here."  
"Then, how about I tell you more about the city? I'm a _lavallois_ , born and raised. Before diving into it, are you just visiting, or did you come for more than just a few days?"

Atko hesitated with length on it, before choosing.

"Probably more than a few days… I don't really know," the refugee admitted. "The best would be to describe it as if I was about to settle in."  
"Alright then! I guess… first, the obvious. Laval is in the valley of the river called _l'Isère,_ and at the feet of the Alps. So when we have foreigners, most of the time they're just passing through to go skiing in our stations. What else… Oh! The different parts of the city. So up the river, where we're headed right now, the university's campus. It used to be pretty big. And it still is! It's just, you know...Most of the buildings were built in the 80's. They're beginning to fall apart. But hey! At least the rent is pretty cheap." Akto chuckled at his joke. The driver's voice was a little hoarse, but in an odd way, it relaxed him. "Then we have the historical center. That's the heart of Laval, were most of the monuments are, and most of the people to. But it's not quiet, oh hell no…We're pretty famous for our organized crime. Italian, mostly, especially on the bank of _l'Isère._ We got East-european too, but they're in the tougher parts of the city, in the south. Then you have the suburbs, quiet and boring. We're about to go through them."  
The countryside left place for a highly dense urban scenery, that indeed, looked pretty quiet. The driver continued.  
"But it's the best place to settle in if you want to raise kids, I guess. Rent's pretty high, but the schools are good."

He looked at him through the rearview mirror.

"Want to go through the historic centre? That way you can take a look at _La Bastille_."

Something wasn't right about that. Atko hesitated to speak up, and finally asked, giving in to his curiosity.

"I don't mind, but isn't _La Bastille_ supposed to be in Paris?"

He saw the driver's smile smile widen in the mirror, before bursting out laughing.

"It works every damn time! Half thinks I'm crazy, the other think I'm a fraud. See, _La Bastille_ is an old french word to say "fortress". So _La Bastille_ in Paris isn't the only one. We got one too, and this one still stands proudly at least! Can't say that about the one in Paris!" he shouted, proudly boasting about his hometown.

"Well, here it is! See?" As they were following the river, he bring Atko's attention to an ancient fortress looking over the whole city, oddly shaped, with massive short walls and strange angles.

"The shape of it...I can't say I ever laid eyes on such an oddlooking fortress."

The driver gave a last look to it, before focusing on the road ahead of him.

"It was built by a famous architect that was specialized in fortresses, _Vauban_. It's shape is really effective to protect against artillery, or so they say."

Atko couldn't take his eyes off of it. This wasn't good. Whoever occupied it had an overwhelming advantage. If a class like Archer took it…

"How do you go up?"  
"Well, see this bridge?" the driver pointed to it. "You cross it, and then you go up the hiking trail. For someone as fit as you, it would probably take about 15 minutes, give or take. I recommend you to go when the weather is clear, early in the morning or late in the evening. The sun sets behind the mountains, it's really something."

Shit, there was a bridge too. This means it was insanely easy to defend. Well, can't help it.

"By the way, how's the weather here?"  
"Well, you shouldn't feel really… _Merde_ , there's no word for it in english… Well, if you're from England as your accent hints, you should feel right at home!"This time, it took him an entire minute to settle in and stop laughing.

"You're pretty good if you can identify my accent." he noticed, still smiling from the driver's happy-go-lucky character.

"Let's just say I manage..."  
"I there any important person I should know about? Maybe...powerful families?" Atko asked as casually as he could, but the serious look his driver gave him showed that he wasn't tricked.

"Look, I don't know why you came, and I don't want to know, but I'm sure you're not sightseeing." He took a deep breath, and his voice deepened. There wasn't the shadow of a smile on his face. "And you won't turn back on whatever I could say. So, if you want to go there...Let's go there. You have to know who you're meddling with. And who can help you."

"You don't have to if you don't want to… I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience… "  
"Kid, you look pretty soft to be bad news. But if you really want to try pissing off one or two assholes, I won't stop you. Hell, I'll help you if it just means giving you the name of who you're looking for."

Atko was fidgeting with his fingers, ashamed by his own lack of intel when there was so much for him to do.

"Thanks."  
"You're welcome. Now shut up and listen. This city is divided between three major powers. The Italians, the Russians, they're nothing but small fry. If you came to kick in the honest, I better warn you: they all hate each other. At least try to befriend one of them."

Akto turned the info over in his head. He'd dealt with Russians before, so perhaps he'd find refuge with them. "I'll try, maybe. I'm not sure it will be possible." He sighed, and continued.  
"Fine. But I've warned you. First, we have the Punks."

Akto would have laughed if it weren't for the driver's grim expression.

"...You're joking right?"  
"No. They're not all punks, but...it's hard to give a name to such an heterogeneous group. I mean, you have anarchists, antifascists, communists, antiglobalization groups, et cetera. They seem divided at first, but they all know each other, even when their opinions are divided. After all, they agree on two things: first, they hate capitalism. Second, they hate the two other major powers. If you're searching for support, start with them. They aren't the most popular, but they sure are reasonable. You'll see them soon enough, since the campus is pretty much their turf."

"How violent are they?" Atko asked with a tone he hadn't used since then. A cold, informative tone, meaning that the answer to the question would have heavy consequences. The driver frowned, but continued.

"Mostly harmless. Unless you fray with the others, that is. They don't like military and police too, obviously." After crossing a bridge, the buildings became less clamped, with large green spaces between them.  
"This is the campus. We'll arrive shortly."  
"What about the others?" pressed Atko, gathering as much as he could.  
"We have several business companies. They all tend to act as one, but you never know when they might disagree. They're trying to take back the city from the third ones, the family you wanted to know about. And evict the Punks at the same time… In recent years, they've installed… I don't know...500 cameras in the streets?"  
"Did they manage to advance in any of those goals?" Akto asked. This was getting unusual.  
"Not really. The Punks are rarely doing anything worth arresting them for, so they can't really do anything against them, and when they do, they disappear as fast as a hurricane. And they underestimated the Al Blumen."  
"They must be the powerful family?"  
"Exactly. They've been in Laval for centuries, they own a gigantic amount of real estate around here. And they intend to keep it. See over there? The village up in this mountain? Their mansion is there. Looks like we're here." said the driver, stopping the car in front of an old, empty apartment building. He paid him and got out of the car, and saw him making a sign asking him to approach. Atko conceded, and waited for him to lower his window.

"Listen...If you want to be put in contact with some of the biggest players in town, call me."  
He handed him a folded paper, containing a phone number.  
"If you're really going up against them, you'll probably need help. Well then, goodbye, and good luck." He began lifting his window, but Atko stopped him.  
"One last question. These Al Blumen… are there any rumors about them linking to… events that common sense cannot explain?"

He was surprised by his supposition. In this case, by how accurate it was.  
"Well, quite a few, but I never gave any credit to such fantasies. How do you know?"

Atko smiled, looking to the mountain where one of his enemies was hiding.

"Let's say I know the type". He turned away, facing his own base of operation. Behind him, he heard the taxi rolling away. The apartment building was 10 floors high, surrounded by many plane trees, which branches formed an intricate design looming over his head. And was apparently a perfect home for the crows shrieking above his head. Walking around the building, Atko spotted the door leading to his quarters. As prepared, the first door was already opened, leading to a dark corridor. At the end of it, a heavy metal door was blocking the way, locked. He opened the two locks thanks to the combination and the key, and entered the basement that had been fit out to become his base of operation in this war. It was largely empty, but perfectly adequate to its needs. Walls of naked cement, a small bathroom, and rations for food. In one word: efficient. His own arsenal had been dropped in one of the corners, 6 crates containing everything an Enforcer could need. All these crates were made of wood, with a much smaller one containing the catalyst required for the summoning: A crown made of leaves of olive tree. Atko saw the a large file with a letter on top on the top of his bed. His name was written on it, and his title with it.  
'Atko Bezimen – White Fur'  
He began by reading the file, containing a few well needed information. Especially, the name of a couple of Masters, as well as the three crossings of Ley-Lines. One was on an a rock formation at the East of the city. Another was nearby, under the library. And the third...  
Fuck. The fortress. The situation had already turned from bad to worse. Well, at least he knew about it. He just had to be careful. A few other information followed. Layout of the underground passages, major political figures and tension in the city, nothing worth caring about...Until the last page of the file.  
It was dedicated to the founder of this ritual. Everything was unknown about him. His motives, his real name, how he managed to do it...Only to facts were known. His alias, the Count of Cheshire, And his true nature.  
He was a Dead Apostle.  
Atko's reaction was as immediate as violent. He shred the page and the letter to pieces, before letting out a scream closer to a beast than a human being.

No.

No.

No.

No no no no no no why no no no let go of me no no no pain pain can't see pain no no no my eyes my skin no no blood no no needle no

His overwhelming thoughts only expressed through the raging of his voice, echoing in the vast empty room.  
He had to run away, get out of this city. Go back. As this thought crossed his mind, he began to laugh hysterically at his own stupidity.  
Go back? Where?  
He had no friends, not even comrades. No one ready to help him, no one. He was, as he had ever been, completely alone.  
He could always hide in the mountains. After all, he was pretty sure he could survive on his own. A dark feeling crept up against his skin, engulfing him in his own inner darkness. As he was about to be entirely devoured, a loud chorus of thousands of voices declared:  
YOUR LIFE ISN'T YOURS.

At this point, Atko was clutching his head with his hands, panting heavily. He felt that memories he tried to banish from his mind long ago were trying to crawl back. Biting his lip with an insane look in his eyes, he faced one of the walls, and punched it as strong as he could. He heard and felt the bones breaking, and the pain instantly cleared his mind. Blood was dripping from his knuckles, falling drop by drop on the concrete. He took off his now bloodstained clothes, and entered the shower. He stood under it, letting the cold water flow on him as if to be cleansed by it. Since looking down only let him see the pure water turn red, he lifted his head and closed his eyes, emptying his head.  
After 10 minutes, he finally got out and bandaged his wound in front of the bathroom's mirror, his own reflection facing him. It didn't feel like looking at a stranger like years ago, bit it dodn't feel like it was him either. But it sure looked like him. Between his short hair and his body covered in scars, it was hard not to aknowledge it. The wound he had just inflicted on himself needed to be taken care of, rather sooner than later. If he focused on it, it should take around 7 or 8 hours to heal.  
He would summon him tommorow, at midnight. A busy day awaited him, between the preparations for the summoning and of his weapons. He would also need to visit the nearby library. Considering the identity of his Servant, he might as well take a few books in passing. Atko lied down on his bed, closed his eyes, and activated his Magic Circuits.

* * *

28/01/XX

A gush of wind blew forth from the circle, where Atko's Servant now stood. He wore a long, heavy robe of a deep red, hiding his hair under a crown of silver laurel leaves. His gaze fell on his summoner, pierced by the sheer intensity and perception of these eyes. After what felt like an eternity for the soldier, the man in red finally spoke up.

"I ask of you...Are you my Master?"

His voice bore an immediate authority to them that impressed Atko, leaving him speechless for a few seconds, despite the question he had asked.

"Yes...Yes I am. My name is Atko Bezimen. And if I am not mistaken, you ought to be Dante Alighieri."  
"Indeed I am." he agreed. "Let us do our best to win this War, shall we?"  
"Yes. But to begin, we will share our abilities to be able to form coherent strategies. I will begin."

* * *

As Atko took a seat on the edge of his bed, Caster took a look around to see their base of operation for himself. He insisted on the weapons his Master had prepared in the corner of the room, firearms and explosives, before returning to him.

"This is an impressive arsenal. For how long have you been preparing the War?"  
"Not very long. All these are my usual working tools, given to me by the Sea of Estray. It's the organisation I serve."

Caster looked away, having much to think over the situation. A rest Atko welcomed warmlythe drain of prana leaving him exhausted. The Servant's eyes eventually laid on a small pile of books, stacked on the nighttable.

"I did not think you were a man of the Arts. Are these your books?"

Caster asked, pointing at the ones he had borrowed the day before.

"I'm afraid not, these aren't mine. I merely borrowed them from a library, not for me originally, even though I read them in the end."

Atko rose up, took the pile and presented them to Caster.

"Here. As the one of the greatest poets of history, I thought you would appreciate the intention. Besides, I needed to check the library out, since a ley-line passes underneath."

A light smile came to his otherwise strict face, an expression Atko deciphered as "extremely delighted".

"I thank you, But I'm afraid it won't last me very long. We should visit this library immediately, all the more reason of there's a pool of prana accesible from there."  
"I don't think that a good idea." Atko immediately replied in a rather cold tone. Brushing it away as a simple mood swing, Caster insisted.  
"As you mentionned, the War has yet to begin. Moreover, we are merely on the outskirts of this town. This is quite an opportunity."  
"NO!" he yelled.

It was more of an animal cry than the produce of a human voice. It was clear that Atko's mind was in complete disarray, and that the trigger of this was the idea of going out of this safehouse.  
Dante, distraught in front of the obvious lost of cool from his Master, tried to learn the reason for such an irrational behaviour.

"What is it that frightens you so much? The night?"

Atko chuckled, and looked in his eyes.

"It's not the darkness I'm afraid about, it's what lies within it."

His pupils widened as ones of a madman.

"It's the Moonfolk I'm afraid of."

Dante pondered on it for a few seconds.

"All the more reason to go. You must be well aware that your prana reserves aren't...what you would call fulfilling. But I can assure you that if we encountered one of these monsters, I could easily erase his presence from the face of the earth. But I _need_ more prana. And it happens that we have a source nearby. We are going to this library to replenish fully my energy, and I won't take no for an answer."

Atko stayed silent for a few seconds, before conceding to his sound argument.

"Alright. Let's make this quick. I'll grab some stuff in case we're unlucky."

Unpacking the crates, he choose carefully among the many instruments of death it contained.

As the two of them were stepping outside, Dante took his Spirit form to avoid drawing attention. The naked trees had an even more sinister look under the yellow light, if it was even possible. To add to the atmosphere, it seemed like crows didn't sleep much. Not at night, at least. The building wasn't really in the Campus, but on the edge of it. He could see different universities separated by large half abandonned lawns. They walked on the sidewalk, looking at the empty roads and at the dark shadows the mountains cut in the night sky. Passing in the dark under a few trees, a sudden light came from their right as a tramway emerged from behind a worn-out restaurant. Mostly empty, he stopped a hundred meters away to drop a few drunked-out passengers. They finally arrived in front of the library, obviously closed in the middle of the night. Considering the looks a group of nearby students was giving him, Atko headed for the rear of the building, hidden from eventual unlucky witnesses. Looking at a high window, he spoke up.

"Unlock it. Without any residue if possible, we wouldn't want to attract any attention on the building."  
"If possible? Do not underestimate me, child."

The Servant opened it, as carefully as he could, before entering. They saw their own shadows project on the ground of the library, thanks to the moon behind their backs. The place was completely empty, as not even a night watchman was there. A cool breeze followed them as they got down. The ceiling was 10 meters high, but the building was recent, giving it a very strange atmosphere. The two of them walked among the shelves, Dante looking around freely, and Atko speaking and taking out books regularly, putting them in his large military grade backpack.

"Poetry wise, I mainly know english and french ones, like Baudelaire or Byron. For novels, I know a few of other countries, but I don't know much more I'm afraid."  
"And in the field of Philosophy?"  
"I know a little more about these, since some of them are a must read for any literate soldier: Machiavel, SunTzu and Clausewitz. But I prefer more peaceful ones. My personal favorites are Rousseau and Spinoza. I'll grab them later, they're in the section over , and if we have enough time, you'll have to read Deleuze."  
"Seems like you're quite the reader yourself..."  
"Well, when you have nothing to do waiting for your assignment, there are worse things than that."

Silence settled in, before being broken again, by Caster's voice this time.

"It really is incredible..."  
"Not really. It's just a hobby of mine"  
"Not you, even though that's part of it. I meant, how far we've gone as a species. Your technology is...Incredible."  
"Seems to me nothing has changed. We could even say it's gotten worse. Our selfdestructive tendencies are harmful to the entire planet now, and I'm not even talking about massive destruction type weapons."

Atko put back a book, and turned to face his interlocutor.

"Sure, on this peaceful winter night in a quiet town as Laval, the illusion works. Here you don't see the cracks. But I tell you: Humanity is crazy, and in all likelihood, doomed. The only sad thing I found about that is that we'll probably destroy the whole planet at the same time. And looking how well we're doing, I'd say we won't even need any atomic bomb."

Caster approached, took out the book Atko had just put back.

"Are you done? I didn't say we cured Mankind's thirst for blood and gold. But I can assure you it's a lot better than in my time."  
He looked shamefully away, ashamed of having let his anger run wild on someone who had probably less to do with this than anyone in the world.

"I guess you're right." Atko mumbled, switching to another shelf.  
"I think you focus on your own experience, which is sadly that of a soldier. Seeing the world by the prism of war, therefore the worst of the human nature, it is no wonder your view of the world is this pessimistic." His majestic voice echoed in the empty room. "Be counscious of the miracles that surround you. Look at where we are! This is a city bigger than any I ever seen in my life, and by your standards, this is a but a small one. This library contains enough books to quench an everlasting thirst of knowledge. This building would have been nothing short of a wonder during my time."  
"Sure, but it doesn't change anything to what I said." Atko stubbornly insisted, ending the debate.

He saw his Servant sighing beside him, making him smile. Whatever awaited him in this war, he was certain that he wouldn't be bored in his company. Pain invaded his right hand, interrupting his thoughts. Searching for the cause of it, he froze when he finally understood. Caster did as well, eyes locked on the open window. Two shadows emerged from it, one carrying the other. Atko immediately dropped his bag on the floor, taking out the weapons he had carried and putting them where they belonged in his armor with swift, efficient moves. He didn't even keep his eyes on them, as his Servant was doing it in his stead.  
"Hello, gentlemen!" a man's voice voiced strongly. Dropping his what surely was his Master on the floor with great care, he said before rushing at them:  
"Let's have fun!"

* * *

A/N: The next 4/5 chapters will come in a rush. With this chapter, you got a look at the city of Laval in which my story takes place. I hoped you enjoyed reading this chapter, and I will gladly read all your reviews!


	8. Chapter 8 - End of Eternity

Chapter 8 – End of Eternity

It was a secret he had kept for many years. Something he had stumbled upon during one of his journeys. He never saw any kind of use to her...That is, until now. Because now, he was setting up a Grail War, and he wanted the Masters to be as entertaining as possible. He had chosen them all with great care, trying to see how they would fare against each others. He loved them all, not because they were his puppets, but because he had watched them for many years. He had grown fond of each of them, learning about their past, seeing how they reacted in front of adversity. They were all equal in his eyes.

The Warrior.

The Wolf.

The Princess.

The Genius.

The Rebel.

The King.

And the last one was waiting for him, unknowing, in her ivory tower, deep in the mountains. The Flower.

His first step was a plane taking him as nearest as possible to his goal, in the city of Dharmshala. He enjoyed visiting India again, particularly how the country had evolved since his last stay, nearly a century ago.

'Now, the british aren't the only one riding the trains' the Count thought, looking at the crowd pushing through the gates of the rail station. It especially appreciated the bursts of flashy colours rounding him after the time he spent in Europe. He enjoyed walking through the streets for a long time, slowly approaching the outskirts of the town. As the sun began to sink behind the horizon, the Count the form of a sparrow and rushed for the sky, trying to stay in the light as long as he could. He could see so much, from the plains to the far east, to the summit of the Himalayas to the West, passing through the hills between them where laid the city he had just come through. Feeling a light touch on his feathers, he looked up to marvel to the fall of the snow. It wasn't so heavy that he would have to land, no...It was perfect...

As the snow fell further from him onto Dharmshala, he could see the light that flowed from the windows moments ago disappear one by one.

It was a shame the clouds hid the night sky...He always had liked to gaze a the stars. It was one of the rare things he considered beautiful. But well, he couldn't have had the snow AND the stars...

He slowly closed up on the ground, playing with the falling snowflakes on the way.

Spotting a train heading in the direction of his destination, he landed on its roof before turning back to his much more comfortable "human" form. Balancing his legs over the edge, he began to whistle along to the rhythm of the tracks.

The light flowed on the treeline boarding the train tracks, coming back and forth as the train pushed onward. Already bored of it, the Count lied down to face the sky and began to sing the lyrics corresponding to the rhythm he had sung earlier:

" _Sa grandeur éblouit l'histoire.  
Quinez ans, il fut  
Le dieu qui traînait la victoire  
Sur un affût;  
L'Europe sous sa loi guerrière  
Se débattit._"

He stopped for a few seconds, his gaze distant as his mind was lost in the depth of his memories.

" _Toi, son singe, marche derrière,  
Petit, petit._"

He stopped again, but this time unwillingly.

"Damn it, what was it again?  
...Oh yes."

" _Quand il tomba, lâchant le monde,  
L'immense mer  
Ouvrit à sa chute profonde  
Le gouffre amer;  
Il y plongea, sinistre archange,  
Et s'engloutit._"

His voice softened gradually, and was a soft whisper when he sang the last lines.

" _Toi...Tu te noieras dans la fange...  
Petit, petit._"

A pale cloud formed as the temperature dropped, and he watch his last words float around before disappearing as the train continued his journey through the dark.

He arrived early in the morning, notably closer to her. He bought a few items in the city before heading out, mostly clothes so as he wouldn't gather too much unwanted attention. He shrouded himself in orange and purple, and began the last leg of his journey. Thankfully for him, the old tracks were still there. It would have been much simpler if trains still used it, but...Well, the world had certainly changed in the last hundred years. And India had known bigger changes than the rest of it.

He really had been lucky to find her. The strange aura he had felt when on board of a train on this very track long ago had made him so curious that he immediately set off to see where it came from. Of the many mysteries that enshrouded her existence, one thing was certain:

She didn't disappoint him in the least.

When he began to feel her aura, the sun was setting again. He could have continued immediately, but...He desperately wanted to see the spectacle she showed him the first time when day gave up to the night. And for the opportunity of seeing it once more, he would gladly wait.

He entered the valley through the hidden passage he had uncovered last time, walking nonchalantly since it was obvious it had been abandoned for ages.

Victor had always wondered since then...Do the inhabitants ignore the existence of the outside world? He had brought a strange seal he had found last time to be analyzed by some mundane archeologist, who had told him it was similar to the writing of the Indus-valley civilization, one of the first ones to ever exist.

He got out of the underground passageway, emerging in the crimson light of the late evening. He would have to hurry to see her again when day would end, and night would begin.

He passed the scattered houses and the green fields by flying over them in his bird-form, closing in on the temple at the bottom of the valley. Passing through the same corridors, the same holes in the walls, the same windows, and finally arrived in her Sanctuary.

He sat his back against the wall, his whole mind focused on the marvel that would surely unravel in front of him any moment.

His gaze fell on Amrita. She was sitting in the same place he had found her last time, in the center of the Sanctuary. Her light dress making her contrast with the surrounding vegetation, she was truly magnificent. Her brownish skin, her long jet-black hair, everything in her was...Perfect. The number of orbs had changed, though. There were at least six of these globes of dirt orbiting around her, levitating in various speeds and heights, clockwise or counter-clockwise. They were all covered in flowers, as was the ground. A few trees also surrounded them, scattered randomly. The flowers were all of radiant colours and strange looking. To the eye of the viewer, each of them fell completely...Unique. They were born on this very morning, and they would never see the light of day again.

It was time.

The last ray of light disappeared, the sun sinking behind the high peaks surrounding the valley. All the vegetation began to wither and fall in dust on the ground, leaving nothing but a barren land where the vegetation grew so vividly a minute ago. A wind blew forth from her, swepting across the ground. In its path, a new vegetation grew in seconds. All the flowers bloomed at the same time, basking the two of them in an ethereal, phosphorescent light. He listened intently, hoping to see the same as he had last time. Sadly, no bell-sounding flowers for him tonight. The trees had disappeared as well, leaving the place to the dark shadows of tall conifers.

He sat on his knees in front of her.

"Good evening beautiful."

She opened her eyes to the sound of his voice. They hadn't change either: be it they're vivid violet color, or their true, disturbing emptiness.

"I apologize in advance for what I am about to do. For the first time in your "life", you are going to experience something akin to pain. Even though it is a mental one, I still think it will be something new for you. So...Your reaction will probably be violent. Disproportionate, even. But there is no other way for me to see the true extent of your power."

Victor bit into his hand, letting a large drop of a blood form. In it, he focused something that he bore in his heart as a member of the Moonfolk.

Hatred for Humanity.

"Open your mouth!"

She did, and his smile grew even wider.

The drop fell.

He had watched everything from a vantage point, looking intently at every bit of it. It had taken her thirty minutes. A few fires had sprout from the unwatched kitchens, here and there. She had killed them all. They didn't even try to fight back, or flee. When they had witnessed her wrath, they all gathered, awaiting for their Godesse's judgment. The central place, in front of the temple, was entirely red in blood. Her, she was untouched. Not a single drop of blood had stained her. He got down, flying low through the smoke. The traces of her devastation was incredible. For an instant, the Count hesitated.

What if none of the others managed to find a solution?

But he quickly regained his determination.

It would be all the more entertaining.

Landing right beside her, he whispered in her ear, the smell of blood invading his nostrils:

"Follow me."

* * *

The two of them were sitting in the courtyard. The catalyst he had given had worked perfectly, luckily for him. Had she summoned a powerful Servant, her victory would have been almost assured. Moreover, he couldn't lead her constantly. He needed someone to do it for her. And what better than her own Servant to do it? But not all Servant would be able, or even want, to do it. He needed a special one. It had taken him two years almost solely focused on searching the right Heroic Spirit. And he had finally managed to find her. Ironically, not very far from her. It was a simple silver spindle, transmitted with the function she represented in the sect: the Mother, the priestess in direct communication with their Godess, Kali. Thus, the name many women had bore was Kālī kī Pujārina.

The Mother with the many Children, the One Priestess of Kali.

The head of the Indian cult known as the Thugees.

She appeared, clad in deep blue tunic, wearing the main symbol of her role around her waist: A long cloth dyed in a red as deep as blood, the tool of murder by wich thousands died throughout history.

"I ask of you. Are you my Master?"

The Count made the widest smile he could.

"No, I'm not, Assassin."  
"...What?"  
"No, it's not me. It's that girl over there." he said while pointing at Amrita, who was looking in the distance next to him.  
"I just helped her summon you, since she's not really...How should I put it...The independant-type of person. And you'll have to take up my role from now one."  
"I have no intention to guide a child I do not consider my own, be her my Master or not."  
"I had a feeling you would say that. Then, allow me to reformulate."

He left each of his hands fall on her shoulders, presenting her to her Servant.

"This girl is the Avatar of Kali. I have never met in the centuries I have lived someone with such a frightening capacity of destruction."

Wrath had lit in the woman's eyes, fixed solely on the pathetic existence of the man that had spat on her beliefs.

"Beware."  
"I truly am sorry if you perceived this as an insult. But I am speaking the truth, and I offer you a chance to personally verify it. Attack her, with all your strength. I will not help her, and you will decide when you wish to give up."

The Count grabbed her shoulder, and whispered in her ear:

"Amrita...Do not hurt her."

Victor stepped back, and sat on a nearby bench, preparing himself to enjoy the hopeless tentative of Pujārina.

* * *

Not once had she be able to approach the girl within around 5 meters. And what had infuriated her, was that she didn't even try to fight back. She didn't move, she didn't talk, she just stood there in silence.

It was useless. She eyed the man in the suit watching over them since the beginning of the fight, trying even harder to hurt the girl since she had seen the grin on the man's face. But she had already realised...It was hopeless.

She continued for hours, never backing down.

The man finally stepped down, calling out to her.

"Alright...ALRIGHT! That's enough. I'm bored as hell, and I think I would die watching this for any longer."  
"You had sworn that you would let me finish when I wished it myself."  
"Well, I'd like for it to end before the Grail War, so I'll have to change my plans. Anyway, you lost, that much is obvious."  
"No."

She pierced him with her gaze, reminding him that he was nothing to her.

"I do not recognize her as the Avatar of Kali, thus I haven't lost."  
"Are you serious? How could she not? Do you not comprehend how powerful she is?"  
"Of course I have. But Kali is not only powerful. She is wrath incarnate. I don't see a shred of it in this lifeless doll of a human being."

At first, she thought he had convulsions. But quickly, a sound emerged. He was laughing, louder and louder, holding his sides.

"You thought she was human? That has to best one I have heard in years. Amrita dear, show the lady your belly."

She lifted her dress, making her flat stomach visible. Her perfectly, flawlessly, flat stomach. Without any scratch, without any scar.

Without any belly button.

"...What in the name of the Godess is she?"  
"Honestly? I have no idea. But I'm telling you...Wrath isn't foreign at all to her. In fact, it's the only thing she is able to feel. Here. I will show you."

The man's memories passed in front of the Priestess's eyes, showing her the destruction of the valley.

"This is the wrath of Amrita, the Avatar of Kali. In this Holy Grail War, your role is to guide her through every step she takes, and help her win it."

She kneeled in front of the girl, her forehead touching the ground.

"I have high expectations for the two of you."

The smile he made could be called nothing short but devilish.


	9. Chapter 9 - First Night

Chapter 9 – First Night

04/02/XX

The Count was sitting in the middle of the crypt on his chair, rhythmically going back and forth with his right leg. He rapidly threw a look to his guest, taking a sip in his own glass, hiding his face in the shadows, keeping a close eye on him.  
He seemed to be waiting for the Count to start-up the conversation. Victor happily obliged.

"It's going smoothly, isn't it."

He shrugged his shoulders, visibly annoyed at his attempt at chitchat.

"It is, it is. All the Masters are gathered, all the Servants are summoned, and the right ones at that."

The guest looked suspiciously, feeling the lie by omission the Count had just tried to hide under the rug.

"Alright, alright, sheesh. Almost all the right ones. Honestly..."

He trew his half-filled glass on the picture of Elsbet carefully tapped on the wall, making shards of glass rain on the stone floor.

"IT'S PISSING ME OFF!"

The look the man gave him was asking for explanations.

"Because, I don't understand, that's why. She already HAD a catalyst. I had considered her strength, and I prepared for her a rather average Servant...Uh who was it again? I forgot, damn it...But, now she summoned the _strongest_ one! How the hell did she managed to do it? A relic with a link to a Heroic Servant as strong as this, I would have known if she had. Then WHY?"

The look of utter despise he gave him forced him to calm down.

"No you're wrong. I'm not angry because she strayed from the path I had carve her. Had she tried to buy another catalyst from a stronger Heroic Spirit, I wouldn't have stopped her. I might even have helped her! But I do not know who he is. I do not know if his character is right for her, I ignore all about him!". He sat right next to him, leaning his head on his shoulder. "How can I enjoy the show if I ignore what is happening behind the curtain?" He took his neighbours glass, and gave him another.  
"Here you go. Also, it's rather unsettling to have one big lonely question mark on the wall beside all the other pictures of Masters and Servant."

He pointed at the sheet of paper tapped right beside Elsbet's one.

"See? It makes no sense."  
He got up after having pat his guest on the shoulder, gaining himself a cold unvoiced remonstrance.  
"Should I put it down? I should put it down." He turned to the man in the shadows again, a few millimeters between the two of their faces.  
"You decide."

The stoic silence he expressed was the only answer he gave.

"Boriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing. You could at least try feigning interest you kow...For me. Come on."

Nothing changed.  
He emptied his glass, and sighed heavily in front of them lack of response.

"Oh well, it might have been worse. I managed to hide my shenanigans from the two biggest killjoy, the Church and the Clocktower. And believe me...It was not-ea-sy." He accentuated each syllabus with a playful flick on his interlocutor ear. "I had to bribe, threaten, flatter, offer gifts, take them back, show my gratitude, I even begged once! Can you believe it? Oh, how low have I fallen..."

Victor gave his best impression puppy eyes he could muster, wich did not faze his guest in the least. He dropped his shoulders in disappointment.

"Honestly, you're not providing me with good company here my friend. And I had such high expectations from you!" He squeezed his cheeks with his fingers, earning himself an amused smile from his counterpart. "Much better."

He got up once again, facing the wall, appreciating the work of more than a decade.

"It still feels surreal, you know. After all this time, it's finally happening. I feel like a kid waking up on the 25th of December's morning. I know the gifts are just under the christmas tree, but I've been waiting for so long that...It feels weird. It feels really, really weird." He balanced on his right feet, bouncing with each word. "Odd. Bizarre. Strange. Uncanny. I might even say..."

The Count froze mid-sentence before rushing to his guest, grabbing him by his shoulders.

"Who do you cheer for?"

The shrug of his shoulders were clear enough.

"No no no, that will certainly not do. You have to choose, because I can't. Believe me I tried. But I love them all so much...Choosing just one would betray all the others. So..." He twirled on his feet, and stroke a pause in front of the 14 pictures hanged on the wall.

"Well then, let me have the honour of presenting all of them to you!"

The man in the shadows rolled his eyes, having to witness again the Count's foolishness.

"First! The Summoner of the strongest class, our dear Alexandre! Full of pride, he's also the fool of a growing assembly: Me, his wife, but also his Servant before long, and half the country after that...Probably." He pointed alternatively between Alexandre d'Entraygues picture and a painting depicting the battle of Ronceveaux, before switching to the infamous pair of oddities he was complaining about not so long ago.

"Second! Our dear Elsbet, whom I'm still a bit mad against, but who's so goddamn adorable. I'll let it slide...Probably. Also, she's really strong. Really frightening. And her Servant, whom I'm more than just mad about. Moving on!" Snapping his fingers, he switched to a simple sheet bearing two names.

"Bearach Azelchior and his wonder, Hannioum Barca! He's intelligent! He's young! And the other one comes from another universe! Two young lads most definitely to look closely at from now on. Sorry, I don't have any pictures for these two, since one has never left the Clocktower before a few days ago, and the other doesn't exist in our reality...So, that's that. Onto the next!"

This time, it was a picture of a painting for the both of them.  
"The most charming pair, without any doubt. I mean look at her. She's the cutest little thing. Plus, considering how sheltered she's been for all her life, the clash with a pirate woman promises to be...Fascinating."

Victor tilted his head, scratching his chin.  
"... who do we have next? Ah!"

He pointed at Berserker's Master, jumping repeatedly in a childish way.  
"That's Dorian! He was on TV yesterday, you saw him? Of course you saw him. Do you understand? He's famous and I know him. How incredible is that?"

The man sunk in the sofa, visibly losing patience at the Count's behaviour, but he stayed nonetheless.  
"Then...It's for our favorite Serbian lone wolf to be under the spotlight! He's stuck with a Caster, but boy oh boy, he's not incompetent either...I dare say he would even have a fair chance of winning! If not for..."

He ended with the picture the most to the right, showing the face of a dark-skinned young woman.  
"Amrita. It's the name she bears in indian legends, at least. I have no idea what she is. But she is without any doubt the most powerful of them all. I was wise enough to give her a weak Servant, though. So, now you have to judge them, based on..."

He scratched his chin pensively, taking approximately two seconds to make his decision.

"What they look like! Now, tell me tell me tell me!"

The Count was now jumping in a child-like manner very befitting of him, before suddenly freezing, and clutching on the man's arm.

"I changed my mind. Why don't we let fate decide? Anything will do. A throw of a die, a flip of a coin, some good old ossicles, or even a gigantic battle to the death! What do you think?"

After a few seconds, the man's gaze fixed on the name of the youngest of the Masters.

"Oh come on, that's not even remotely fun!"

His smile dropped, changing to a sulking pout.

"You cheater. If you look at his raw abilities, it's obvious he's a winner."


	10. Chapter 10 - Death of the Knight

Chapter 10 - Death of the Knight

29/01/XX

It had now been more than an entire day now that Saber had seen his Master, and 3 days since he had been summoned, and he was now growing impatient. But the loyalty he had put in the man called Alexandre restrained him from questioning his intent. But the doubt grew nonetheless, despite his iron will, under the pressure of his longing to fight in the War. And also...

"Oh, I see you're still idle in here. I can't say it surprises me, but...I still had a faint hope. For your own sake."

The woman called Deborah d'Entraygues mocked him the very instant she saw him in the room. He turned his back to the window he was gazing through a second ago to face her.

"Such concerns are not necessary, my Lady. My sake his in the hands of my Lord, and I do not wish for it to be any different."

She walked to his side, looking at the night lights the Servant of the Sword was looking at before she interrupted him.

"Is that truly the way it is, I wonder..."

Her gaze lost itself in the contemplations of the city. She had the posture one awaited for someone of her status, stiff, dignified, with her hands crossing in her back. It mirrored his own.

"Since it is obvious you will not go out tonight, can you keep me company for the time being?"

"If it is your wish my Lady..."

"Alright then."

Saber should have payed attention. If he had, he would have seen the mischievous smile growing on Deborah's face.

"Is the name "Angélique" familiar to you?"

She had expected him to get flustered. To get angry a bit, ask for explanation. She would have continued teasing him, she would have laughed, he would have sulked a bit. That was the plan. But she had not expected this kind of reaction...At all.

"Playing with other people's wound is of a bad taste I didn't expect from you."

His cold anger surprised her, to say the least. She had read the books telling of his adventures, certain that it would be nothing than a good joke. She had engaged in friendly banter with him many times since the summoning, mainly to escape the boredom. And it was the first time he had shown such a stiff reaction.

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't expect it to be this way. Please do forgive my foolishness."

"It's alright. I am certain you wouldn't have acted this way if you knew my past for what it was, not a poor reenacting of it."

His words were ones of forgiveness, but his expression showed no sign of it. His entire being was still, his mind lost in the labyrinth of his own memories.

"Then why don't you show me a good reenacting of it?"

He first tried to feign incomprehension.

"I'm afraid I fail to understand what you imply, my Lady."

She insisted nonetheless, despite his obvious reluctance.

"Why don't you tell me the story of the Great Paladin Roland yourself?"

"No." His answer had been quick and clear, making obviously no room for her to ask again. Anyone would have backed down in front of his flat-out refusal, but she did not.

"From now on, I will never no what might or might not hurt you. If you wish to avoid such a situation, there is no other way. Besides..."

Her tone became less authority, and her fingers entwined, not in her back, but in front of her, as she leaned her left shoulder on the glass.

"The night is long."

Saber sighed, admitting his defeat, and turned towards his mistress.

"Shall we seat then?"

"No...I like it here."

"As you wish."

He turned again, facing the night. And he talked.

He told her many things, and left many others unsaid. He told her about what she wanted to know: his youth, mainly, before he became a Paladin under the direct orders of his uncle, the Emperor Carl Magnus. He told her how he first met his friend and brother, another errant knight named Renaud. He told her about how he had thought for so long that the bond that they shared would never break, and how he despaired when it did, leaving the reason of it unsaid.

He told her about his horse, Veillantif, an Arab Stallion he had gained over the corpse of a southern Lord. How in the darkest depth of the night he would ride, hidden from the eyes of the enemy, but the thunder of his mount's heels still roaring in their ears long after they had escaped.

He told her the beauty of the life of a wandering warrior: the many people he had saved, the many lords he had challenged, the many monsters he had slain. How he had thought for so long that nothing could ever make him abandon this life, because he had felt that this was where he could make a true difference for the common folk, all the while living in the teachings of his Faith. And how he had felt an overwhelming bitterness when he finally did abandon it to become the 12th Paladin, leaving once again the reason for it unsaid.

As the story was unraveling, it became clear that it was filled with many holes. He had left all of them empty, without telling why, but without bothering to fill them with lies either. After all, it was unnecessary. Because of all the names he had quoted, of all the knights, of all the kings and of all the princesses, one name had been left behind. During the hours he talked, not once did Roland mention Angélique. How deep were his wounds for him to still be unable to talk about her in a new life? Deborah almost asked about her at the end, backing down at the last moment. He had said it himself: Playing with other people wounds was of bad taste, thus it was beneath her.

"And the Battle of Ronceveaux?" Deborah asked, intrigued that he still didn't mention it.

He turned his gaze away from the shadow of the mountains towards her face.

"Let's leave it some for another night. Besides, I have talked enough about myself. Hearing about someone else might be better."

He tried to push her to talk about herself, hoping to understand her better, if possible. To share a mutual bond, for the fleeting moment they would share during the War.

"Let's not ruin this night with unpleasant talk, shall we?"

"As you wish, my Lady."

The room fell silent for a while, the two of them lost in their respective thoughts, their gaze lost in the dark roofs of the city.

Suddenly, she moved, breaking the standstill. She laid her forehead and her right hand on the glass, trying to embrace as much as she could of the scenery. In this very instant, the Paladin became aware of the true beauty this woman bore. A rare kind of allure that made her look strong and inflexible even in moments of obvious weakness like this one. He continued to observe her for a time, and turned toward the city as well.

"It looks...It looks like the ground is shattered. And the light...The light is passing through the cracks..." Deborah whispered faintly. Saber had no idea if she had intended for him to hear it, or if she had just voiced her thoughts carelessly.

"I wonder where the light would com from..."

"Hell? Maybe? Who knows..."

Apparently, she wasn't the only one carelessly voicing her thoughts.

"I doubt it. Such beautiful, golden light couldn't possibly come from there. It probably comes from Heaven."

Her wry smile showed that she had regained her usual behaviour. Saber internally congratulated himself.

"Heaven? Underground?"

"Why not? It is nowhere said in the scriptures that Heaven is above us, and Hell beneath."

Deborah chuckled, imagining Heaven stuck underground, with all the angels knocking their heads on the ceiling.

"Why not, indeed...Why not..."

Th sky was beginning to brighten. The sun would appear above the mountains before long.

"Well, the night was long, but it sure was pleasant. Thank you, Saber."

He bowed to her, the outdated manner making Deborah feel like teasing him for it. But she let it slide, just for this once...

"It was my pleasure, my Lady."

The rising sun fell on his armor, making it shine brightly.

'It seems the expression "Knight in shining Armor" was created just for him...

How stupid is that.'

She really felt like laughing. It had been a while since she had enjoyed such a wonderful evening.

"Well, my husband should emerge from his study before long. Hence, I will take my leave."

Right before she got out of the room, she turned back to him.

"Saber...I await to hear the rest of your story with impatience."

"Until tomorrow night then, my Lady."

The devilish grin that grew on her face sent shivers down Saber's spine.

"tomorrow? Did I say tomorrow? I'm pretty sure I didn't. Could you be expecting it as well, Saber?"

It wasn't the first time she had left him flustered, but it was the first time he was mad at himself for falling in her trap.

She left without even waiting for his response.

* * *

31/01/XX

The evening light was falling from the windows of the flat. Saber was waiting in front of his Master's study, hesitating to knock on the door. Not able to resist anymore, he finally knocked.

A voice came from inside, allowing him to enter.

Saber immediately kneeled, showing his loyalty as much as he could.

"My Lord."

Alexandre lifted his head from his desk, and closed his work.

"Saber. To what do I how the pleasure?"

"I came to inquire about your strategy for the War."

"If you need to know anything about it, you will."

"I understand. But...I simply wish to know when we will head out. I am eager to fight for you, my Lord. "

Alexandre brow furrowed, unsatisfied by what he perceived as a lack of respect.

"I do not wish to repeat myself. Now is not the time. I will let you know in advance, do not worry."

"Very well, I shall take my leave."

He closed the door behind him, not knowing what to feel. The worry that his Master was a coward had now disappeared, so he was relieved. Still, the fact that he ignored everything disappointed him. He had hoped he could help his Master with his Strategic intelligence as well, but he made it clear that he didn't need him.

Still, Saber had faith in his Master. After all, he had summoned him. That meant that he was a Master worthy of being served by him. There couldn't be another possibility.

AS he walked back to the living-room, he noticed Deborah reading in one of the armchair.

"My Lady."

He had expected many things from her, but not the desperate sighed she exhaled.

"Saber...Do you really need to wear this armor at all times?"

"That is my duty as a Ser..."

"Please...It doesn't suit the mood. We are not about to be attacked, I can guarantee that."

He finally obeyed...With reluctance.

"As you wish, my Lady."

"Exactly."

His bright armor disappeared, leaving behind simple blue garments with red border and knee-high leather boots.

"This is much better."

She lifted her eyes from her book, carefully observing him.

"Much better."

She closed her book, leaving it on the coffee table that separated the two of them.

"I presume it did not go well."

"On the contrary. All my earlier concerns are now void."

His steady gaze met hers, leaving her steadily uneasy in front of her perceptive eyes.

"Do you intend to fool yourself any longer? Come back to your senses, Saber. Alexandre isn't worthy to be your Master."

It wasn't the first time she had insulted his Master, but it was the first time she had done it so blatantly. And despite his usual calm demeanor, he couldn't help but feel anger filling his veins. Considering his previous attempt at countering her had been useless, he tried another angle. Hers.

"Are you implying you would? That is without the shadow of a doubt a terribly overproud thing to say."

"I'm not. I would not wish for me to become your Master anyway..."

His teeth were grinding from his clenched jaw. Of all the things she could have said, her doubting him was certainly the most hurtful.

"...Considering I have no desire to fight in the Holy Grail War."

He could tell from her amused expression that she had perfectly meant the pause between the parts of her sentence. For a while, he wasn't sure how to react. He finally decided to respond in likeness to her, and smiled.

"Still, your loyalty surprises me, and I am sure you are not foolish enough to think he deserves it."

His brow furrowed under her blunt attack.

"Who I am loyal to concerns no one but me. It would be preposterous to see loyalty as a matter of one's own will. It is a matter of fate."

"And I presume you do not wish to tell me how you came to this conclusion?"

"Indeed."

He turned his head to the large windows showing the clouds bating in the light crimson of the winter setting sun. The mountains on the east side of the valley were tainted in the same colour. He lost himself in the contemplation of the scenery, and ignoring as best he could the piercing gaze coming from her dark eyes. She suddenly got up, going out of the room and back in a minute with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Drinking alone makes for a sorry sight. Care to join me?"

"If you desire so, my Lady..."

Putting them down, she filled them by half before pushing one with the tip of her fingers to his side of the table.

"Now then, I was promised the end of your story. I hope you didn't change your mind..."

"Of course not." Saber seemed almost insulted by by her remark, as if breaking a promise, as little as it may be, would stain his honor forever.

She took her first sip, appreciating the taste, and signaling him to do as well by a wave of her hand. After smelling it with curiosity, he took a sip as well and put the glass back on the coffe table.

"A little weak comparing to what I'm used to, but it tastes better than anything I've ever drank."

"You're welcome."

Saber took a deep breath, and began telling her about the story of Roland's legendary death.

"It had been thirteen years since I had become the first of the Paladins. Since then, the order had took such a part in the Empire's affair that we were nicknamed "the twelve hands of the Emperor". Each of us had an important role to play in the administration as well as out military duties. I was the Guardian of the borders of the Empire. And for these thirteen years, the Empire had been safe, partially thanks to me. At that time -before the battle of Ronceveaux, that is- we were expecting an invasion from the south, through the Pyrenees. I accompanied the Emperor on a tour of our southern defenses, as well as the armies that were stationed there. We finished it without any major incidents, and went back on the road to the Capital. We were in allied territory, so our formation was loose, and we had few men coming with us, nothing but an escort. Not what you need to fight a batlle. I, alone, commanded the rear guard of a hundred men. The Emperor and my brothers in arms accompanying him, were marching two, three miles ahead of us. We entered the gully known as Ronceveaux.

Then they came."

His expression grew visibly darker under the weight of his last memories.

"The men I commanded were the man I had chosen myself to protect the Emperor. They were the best, the bravest of our warriors. I think that under different circumstances, we might have won, whatever their numbers might have been. But...We were all mounted, knights of the holy crown, always fighting on a horse. Trapped in this gully, they were rapidly butchered. Arrows were falling on us like rain, and the enemy came down on us like a torrent. I saw my comrade fall one after another, the best soldiers, some I had even trained, fall under the disadvantage of the battlefield. At first I was stunned, standing as I was in a part of the gully so tight only one mounted man could pass through it. I tried giving orders, but it was useless. I was gradually giving in to despair, when a loose arrow stroke my loyal Veillantif in the head. He died in an instant, a painless death I hope. I managed to slip from the saddle swiftly, avoiding being crushed by his corpse. As surprising as i might seem, that is the exact moment when hope came back to me.

I was standing atop a slope, in a tight spot, looking down on their soldiers. For my Emperor, I knew what I had to do. I had to hold, stand were I was standing as long as I could. At this instant, I was certain that neither the tiredness, nor these weak soldiers, could kill me. I drew my sword and held my shield high, shouting as loudly as I could to intimidate them."

His gaze became distant as his tale now neared it's end.

"I don't know how many of them I killed. It went on for hours, and the slope in front of me had received so much blood that it was now impossible to get a good foothold, making them even easier to kill. At first, the ground behind me was free of any blood. Then a few drops appeared. Each time a lucky or simply, a good enough enemy managed to hurt me, more blood fell on the dirt. In the end, what I first thought impossible became painfully obvious: If I didn't react, I would die. I made some room around me, and grabbed my Horn. You already know it's power, I assume. I blew in it as hard as I could, making the army facing me cower in fear. But nothing happened. A sword had cut through it, rendering it powerless. I was now certain that the only fate awaiting me was a death by their hands. I had no fear of dying, but one fear was weighing on my mind..."

He got up, and drew his sword from its scabbard. It was forged in a dark steel, with razor-sharp edges.

"This is the Holy Sword Durandal, the Rock-Splitter. As I saw my last hope slip away from my grasp, I decided that I would not let it fall into the enemy's hands. Each time I had a mere instant of respite, I tried to break Durandal by striking a rock with it. After 3 attempts, the rock gave in and split in half. Seeing the power of my sword, the entire army stood still. I took advantage, and used Durandal's ultimate power to get it out of their reach. Throwing it as hard as I could, I unleashed it's power and saw it fly through the sky.

I didn't even notice the spear piercing my chest."

He finished his glass.

* * *

03/02/XX

Alexandre had finally received the call he was waiting for for now ten days.

The last Servant had been summoned.

The War was now officially beginning, and his move would be the first, with the majesty befitting a d'Entraygues. He got up, grabbed his staff (a simple cane of rose wood with a golden pommel) and called forth his Servant, who responded immediately.

Tonight, he would strike fear into the hearts of all the other Masters of the War.

They climbed atop the very building they occupied, looking down on the entire sleeping town.

Alexandre turned to Saber.

"Blow the horn."

The Servant took it out, blowing in it at full force, without calling it's True name.

Defying all the Servants of the war to come and fight.


End file.
